


May Good Fortune Touch Your Hand

by GreyWinter



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Drinking, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hand Jobs, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Major Character Injury, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racist Language, Romance, Slow Burn, Smoking, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-08-26 05:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 77,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16675765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWinter/pseuds/GreyWinter
Summary: Arthur Morgan has been part of the Van der Linde gang since it was born. Life on the run made little time for a safe relationship and after Mary, he wasn't sure he ever wanted another partner. However, when he starts to have feelings for another gang member, his life begins to tip sideways along with the problems that the gang faces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! My first multichapter fic! I'm going to do my best with this and hopefully not abandon it like other little projects of mine. 
> 
> I absolutely love RDR2. I've done a rough playthrough already, meaning I didn't complete everything/I skipped some stranger missions but I've played through all the chapters and epilogue and boy MY HEART AFTER THAT. I'm replaying it, aiming to get 100% and making periodic saves so if I want to go back and play at a certain point I can. I'll also actually play more as John after I finish the epilogue again. 
> 
>  
> 
> This is a basic retelling of RDR2 but with an Arthur and Charles relationship. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.  
> c:
> 
> \-----  
> (The end notes because I'm tired of seeing them at the bottom of other chapters.)  
> Like my first story, I posted this whole thing in a text-to-speech app and everything sounded fine. I also had Grammarly check over it in docs and on here so hopefully everything fits together. My friend also read through it but it was more of a taste test, you know? (meaning it wasn't a beta read)
> 
> Chapter 2 is actually done but I'm going to wait about a week? I just want to see if people are interested. That and I want to get a head start in chapter 3. I'd like to have multiple chapters written before posting, just in case I hit writer's block.

The snow was coming as light flurries. It was still too much to leave. It actually had to thaw, like the others said, for them to leave. Maybe it was Arthur’s worries rubbing off that made Charles want to pace. That man’s only issue at the moment was the fact that they were sitting still. He expressed some thoughts when they were coming back from hunting and it seemed that Hosea shared them.

Charles didn’t disagree. Whatever happened on the boat caused too much trouble. Arthur and Hosea were doing their own thing, so when they were called upon, they missed most of the action. People who were on the boat didn’t like to talk about it while people who weren’t there nor on the boat didn’t know enough so Charles was mostly in the dark about what truly happened. 

Despite the temperature, Charles found himself sitting outside the cabin by the fire. He wasn’t technically on watch but he was one of the few still wide awake so he took the responsibility while he crafted arrows. Snores emanated from the cabin to his back. Murmuring came from the cabin where most of the women slept. The wind whistled through the few trees. A horse huffed, another stomped a hoof. A bird in the distance let out a cry.

_The future is unknown_ , a man once told Charles, _you can’t make it yourself but you can shape it enough with your actions_. He was a wise man, from what Charles can remember, probably an elder of his old tribe. Or it was a drunk he encountered in his late teen years. Either way, they were words he tended to keep close to his heart.

A door to the cabin Dutch, Molly, Hosea, and Arthur sleep in opened and closed. It was odd, coming from any of the four. Dutch has been exhausted after finally settling the camp here, Molly never left the decently-warm cabin, Hosea has complained about aching joints in the cold so he wouldn’t be out this late, and Arthur… well, his schedule wasn’t as easily predicted. He’s a light sleeper but Charles hasn’t been louder than the wind while he’s on watch. He also was good at falling asleep when he wanted, unlike poor sods who fear nightmares before they sleep.

The scent of _cigarette_ smoke alerted Charles that it was Arthur. No one else in that cabin smoked cigarettes. Arthur occasionally smoked cigars but he seemed most content with cigarettes. It was almost concerning. He didn’t usually smoke at night and the fact that he woke up to smoke was possibly worse. However, Charles knew personal space and he’ll give it if needed. He’s also known Arthur long enough to know the man will seek out something if he wants it.

An owl shrieked from above. A warning cry. The man raised his gaze from polishing the stem of an upcoming arrow. Most likely a snowy owl, judging by its faint outline. White on white; a perfect time for it to hunt. It must not like the human presence. Maybe it has a nest in one of the broken cabins or somehow got a nest inside a cabin they sleep in.

“You should be resting your hand.”

Charles, unsurprised, turned his head to look at Arthur. He was wearing his thick coat buttoned all the way up to his chin but no hat, leaving his short hair to the wind’s mercy. In this lighting, it wasn’t hard to notice the tired, worried lines on his face. His cigarette hung loosely between his lips. It screamed the very essence of exhaustion.

“And you should be getting your sleep. Dutch will need you in the coming days,” Charles replied calmly.

A chuckle rumbled deep in Arthur’s chest. He raised a hand to grab the cigarette so he could breathe the smoke out. He shook his head as he came closer to the fire and sat on the box to Charles’ left. “He may need me but there are others.”

“By the way, why are you up?”

“Can’t sleep because the stupid wind.” The man sighed. “It’s like there’s a wolf howlin’ outside my window and invadin’ my room with cold air. The temperature, I deal with. I got all my blankets and my coat to cover up with and the fire in the other room. We let Hosea sleep in front of the fire, as long as he moves when it’s time to wake up. It’s just the goddamn wind.”

“You’ll eventually fall asleep if you stare at the ceiling long enough,” Charles more-or-less assured.

“I’d like to fall asleep as soon as I lay my pretty little head down.”

It was Charles’ turn to laugh. He’s been part of the gang for six months now and Arthur’s charisma was starting to shine through his gruff facade. At the start, he was the boogyman to the new arrivals like Charles, Sean, Davey, and Mac. Pearson talked to Charles one night and called Arthur a butcher, along with multiple types of dogs and other things. They both had drinks in their hands but Charles soaked up everything he could. Arthur Morgan was Dutch’s guard dog _and_ attack dog, raised by him and Hosea to be the perfect, level-headed enforcer they could rely on. Charles learned that Arthur was dangerous but he could never get an explanation as to why.

He knew why now. At first, it was just talk and rumor about what Arthur did. After spending time in the gang, Charles has gotten to see the man in action, see how his shooting skills were better than words described and how skills he said he didn’t have were pulled out of the attic and dusted off. The best example was when they went hunting the other day. Arthur, one of the most competent trackers of the gang, tracked the deer and killed it with the bow, which he said he never got a good handle on before, with a clean shot that only experienced hunters can make. Charles was colored impressed, which doesn’t happen often.

“Why not try alcohol? Seems to put some of the others to sleep just fine,” Charles murmured.

“Can’t have none of that lingering in the mornin’,” Arthur grunted. “Plus, I’m not Pearson.”

“Alright then, let’s talk. I hear some people get tired the more they talk. 

Arthur stared into the fire and sighed. He wiped at his face with a hand but kept his eyes on the source of warmth ahead of him. He was actually more quiet and secluded than some people tend to think. You could leave that man out in the woods alone and he would find a way to survive and not go crazy from lack of socializing. They were good qualities, ones that Charles was thankful to have himself.

Charles was about to think that the offer would be untouched as he started on polishing the arrows again, only planning to glimpse at the enforcer occasionally. Arthur sighed, “‘bout what?”

The other man shrugged, not even sure if he was being looked at. “Anything. What’s on your mind?”

“I wanna get outta here,” Arthur growled. He shook his head and covered his face with his hands briefly. A few of his little bangs hung over his fingers. Unable to tell if he needed comfort, Charles kept his place. He wouldn’t even dare to touch the man unless the situation required it but usually he was seen as a sturdy, untippable boulder. Tonight, he looked more like a man who was at his end. “We’re just sittin’ up here. We need to head west, like we originally planned. And the sooner we get outta here, the sooner Hosea will be feelin’ better.”

Charles wasn’t dumb, he had plenty of common sense and he thinks he can read others decently well. It didn’t take a genius to notice the connection between Hosea and Arthur. It was like a father and son relationship. Many a time Charles has seen Arthur confiding in the older man and going out on rides with him to return with warm smiles on their faces. There was also a connection between Arthur and Dutch but it was not as strong as the bond Arthur has with Hosea. If anything, it seemed that Dutch had a better father and son relationship with John instead.

“It’s just a waiting game, now,” Charles said.

“I know and I hate it.”

The arrow stems were all finished with polishing. Now, one by one Charles will start adding the heads. They slotted into the ends neatly and all that had to be added were thin strips of leather that would help keep them in place. He was aware of Arthur’s eyes on him, watching the arrows be crafted. Although he was making good progress tonight, Charles wasn’t sure if he would be able to finish them yet. Unfortunately, he seemed to be lacking feathers.

“Why you makin’ those?” Arthur wondered aloud.

Charles put aside one arrow to pick up another to fix the arrowhead in place. “You’ve got a bow now. We both will be needing arrows. We can’t share them if we’re in two different places at a time.”

Arthur laughed, like he thought it was a bad joke. When he saw Charles staring at him, the smiled waned off his face and he sighed again. He was getting good at that; sighing. “You ain’t jokin’...”

“Afraid not,” Charles replied. “I saw you hunt. You’re just letting your skills go to waste if you don’t help provide.”

“I hunt sometimes with Hosea.”

“Hunt sometimes for the gang.”

Arthur finally realized he was trying to win a losing battle. His lips became a thin line as he studied Charles. Charles stared back but he was lacking the intensity that Arthur’s gaze held.

“But of course no one’s going to force you,” Charles assured lightly.

Arthur waved him off with a lazy hand. “No but I should. It’s nice to provide.”

A warm pang beat in Charles’ heart for a moment. Not everyone in the gang has been able to convince Arthur of something so quickly, Hosea always has the easiest luck with the man. Maybe Charles was high on the list of people who can easily convince him or Arthur just needed a bit more assurance. The first option would possibly make Charles smile but he won’t push it.

This wasn’t the first time Charles has had to trek through snow. The first time, he wore thinner clothes and nearly died from the cold. Thankfully, this time, he managed to grab thicker clothes and he was with a group that was prepared and had resources. So sitting by the fire, in his buffalo fur coat, the cold didn’t bite as badly as it could. The only parts of him suffering were his cheeks and exposed hands, but his hands needed to be free for the arrows.  

“Thank you, Charles,” Arthur murmured. With his head bowed, his face was pretty much unreadable. He wrung his gloved hands together before looking up. “I think I’ll go rest up. Make sure you get some sleep before the entire gang wakes. Who knows when we will get movin’.”

Charles nodded to the man. “I’ll make sure I do. If you ever need any more talking, I’ll try to lend myself if I can.”

He didn’t miss the little snort from the retreating man. “Sure thing, Charles.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos! If I didn’t reply to your comment, just know that I did read it! 
> 
> I don’t think I like this chapter too much. It feels like filler. There’s hardly any interaction and it’s loosely copied from the game. 
> 
> I checked over it like I did last time but I apologize if there are any mistakes I missed.

The Heartlands was a warm welcome; metaphorically and literally. It made Arthur sweat uncomfortably as he drove the horses along the path Hosea instructed him on. There was a faint itch at the back of his neck from their visual encounter with the natives earlier. It was slightly soothed with Charles’ presence in the back of the wagon. That man, with his sharp eyes and skills, Arthur would have at his back over nearly any other member of the gang.

  
Hosea, despite Arthur’s protests, was telling tales of the enforcer’s younger years. A young delinquent that had to be tamed down like a wild animal. He had to be taught decent manners, which Hosea gladly tackled. Only a few inches of hair was left on his head after a trip to the hairdresser, cutting off the length that went down to his shoulders. His patchy facial hair was shaved clean off and weeks worth of dirt was scrubbed away so they could take a ‘family’ picture after settling together. Hosea gladly took on the pampering duties and taught him to speak and read properly. Dutch taught him some of the dirtier things, but still, Hosea trained him mostly.

  
Arthur risked a glance back at Charles. The man was staring down at the boxes with confusion, like he was thinking. What would a young Arthur look like to Charles? If Hosea’s memory and words were good enough, then maybe he’d construct a clear enough picture. A teenage Arthur Morgan, dirty with a wild look in his eyes, possibly strands of his sandy hair sticking up in places, with skinny limbs that didn’t yet match his broad frame. If you were to look at Arthur’s picture of him, Hosea, and Dutch, you’d see the mischief in his eyes.

  
“You should have seen him on one of his first birthdays with us,” Hosea laughed. It turned to something wheezing, which had Arthur turning to look at him worriedly. He got over himself soon enough. “Got as drunk as a man trying to drown his sorrows and was as slippery as a fish. I’ll tell ya, managed to get into two fights after getting away from us, disappeared again for some time with a lady, then got into another fight when we got him back. Nearly got the authorities on us with that final fight. He got that pretty chin scar that night, I believe.”

  
“Yup. A drunk broke his bottle and cut open my chin with it,” Arthur clarified.

  
“But what’s the deal with you and John?” Charles asked.

  
Hosea ignored Arthur’s sigh and gave his shoulder a weak push. “Answer him, Arthur.”

  
“John was Dutch’s favorite son. We were taught the same things but he was more pampered. So while he was getting groomed, Hosea worked with me. And then John left for a year and he was welcomed back with open arms and no repercussions,” Arthur snarled. “Any other member would face consequences.”

  
“That does seem a little unfair…” Charles murmured.

  
Arthur straightened and turned to Hosea with fire in his eyes but the man simply put a calming hand to his chest. “And I have spoken to John multiple times, he knows he did wrong and he won’t do it again. This is something we must not allow Arthur to dwell on, Charles.”

  
“If he does it again, he won’t have enough time to think about it because I’ll kill ‘em myself,” Arthur growled.

  
The remaining ride to Horseshoe Overlook was devoid of conversation. Arthur concentrated on driving. He was glad to be out of the mountains but they still aren’t away from the law. They’ve simply put some distance between them. Who knows how long it will take to get money so they can move on again. They’ll have to settle here first and then work. And while they work, hopefully, they’ll regain their strength again and find some way to head west. Lord knows they need luck thrown their way.

  
The scenery was nice. Everything was green and rocky and the rivers provided a nice splash of blue where it was needed. The gang has traveled to many places, although Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur have gone more places than they and the gang have gone together. They went to Nevada when Arthur was younger but he wasn’t a fan of all of the dirt and sand so he doesn’t remember it too well anymore. A few other states, they went to, but eventually the scenery begins to look similar to other places. However, Arthur knew how to appreciate beautiful locations.

  
Horseshoe Overlook was like a breath of fresh air. It was decently secluded and it was perched well on an outcrop that could provide defensive benefits. Despite it being located in a patch of woods, it was already a small clearing that would allow the sun to soak their tents. Miss Grimshaw already had everything nearly all set up when their wagon entered camp, Javier sitting in the back with Charles now. She instructed them where to park then chased them out of the way so she could continue to work. Hosea laughed about the woman’s stressing as they parted from the wagon.

  
“You were right, Hosea! This place is great!” Dutch greeted them with open arms. He chased Uncle and Tilly from the table near the front of camp so he could sit. “Here, we can prosper.”

  
“Arthur and I were about to prosper in Blackwater but then Micah got you excited about that ferry,” Hosea grumped.

  
Arthur sighed as he felt the beginnings of an argument start to unfold. He stood on the other side of the table with his back half to them. When the two older men started to move away, he followed, but made sure to be a simple shadow unless they needed him, or if he wanted to give his own cents.

  
They stopped where they’ll probably set up a fire later. Arthur stood between them as Dutch explained the next plan; to stick around a bit for money then head out west to buy some land in a few months. He listened but movement caught his eye for a moment. Charles, straight ahead, was starting to chop logs for firewood. He couldn’t watch for long because Dutch was bringing them toward the edge of camp then back to his tent to make a speech. And Arthur, one of the longest and most loyal members, stood behind the men as Dutch spoke.

  
They had to work. Simple as that. Work to get money, contribute to the box, and collect food for the camp. But no trouble; they can’t afford it. Work hard and they will get out soon. It’s possible. Dutch just makes it sound easier than it will be.

  
As soon as Dutch dismissed them, Miss Grimshaw guided Arthur to his tent. He was thankful he had a wagon apart of his area because otherwise he might not have been able to hang up his pictures. Although maybe because he had so much equipment and most of the ammo was mixed with his stuff was the reason why he had the wagon. The only one who seemed bothered by the fact he had isolation was Micah.

  
It didn’t take more than a few hours until the sun was setting. Pearson whipped up a quick stew but Arthur decided he wasn’t going to eat tonight, not unless he sees everyone else get their share. Dutch and Hosea kept him plenty fed while they were up in the mountains, even a bit before. He had the strength to make it through a night without food, it wasn’t the first and definitely won’t be his last.  
He was sharpening a knife when footsteps came close to his tent. He didn’t look up, waiting for the person to talk.

  
“Arthur.” Charles.

  
“Mr Smith,” Arthur murmured.

  
There was a snort. He glanced up at Charles with a smirk as the other man said, “So we’re back to surname basis?”

  
“Aw. My apologies, my friend.” Arthur sat up a tad bit straighter to look at the man. He was holding two steaming bowls and motioned toward the cot.

  
“Hosea told me you haven’t eaten anything yet and that you’re doing bedtime rituals.” That earned a snort, but from the enforcer this time. He nodded to Charles and scooted over, allowing the man to sit beside him and put a bowl in his lap. “He asked me to make sure you eat.”

  
The thought warmed the cold front Arthur puts on his heart. It was nice to know the older man was still looking after him, even if he didn’t ask for it. It also made him feel a bit better that it was Charles who brought him his meal, but he would never admit to that out loud and tried to smother it. Getting a visit from Hosea would be just as appreciated.

  
“Well Hosea should take care of himself first,” Arthur said after clearing his throat.

  
“I’m pretty sure he did, Arthur.”

  
The stew, as always, was bland. There was meat and vegetables and some things that were questionable. Everyone ate it and no one was killed by it, yet. Some nights it was good, especially when good meat is collected or Pearson adds spices, but with low resources, they haven’t had that luxury.

  
“Well, thanks, I guess.”

  
They ate without speaking much. The sound of the spoons scraping against the bowl and their slurping was the most notable sound. There were a few sounds of the camp but most of it was toned down. It sounded like Uncle was plucking the strings of his banjo. It was serene.  
Charles eventually stood, collecting their bowls. He started to head off but Arthur stopped him.

  
“Uh, Charles, what are you doin’ tomorrow?”

  
The man squinted. He looked suspicious but he also scrunches up his face sometimes when he thinks. “I don’t believe I’m doing anything.”

  
It was abnormal for Arthur to freeze up like he can feel happening right now. Panic stirred in his chest and he didn’t like it. It was just Charles, someone who he can rely on. There was no reason to be panicking about anything. “Would you like to hunt with me tomorrow?”

  
Charles smiled, warmly. “Sure, Arthur.”

  
~*~

  
The past couple weeks most found Arthur learning the new terrain. Hosea may have been here once or twice but not Arthur, he came from the north-west. He did odd jobs for the gang and to get some money for himself. He and Charles hunted with each other often. When he wasn’t exploring the Heartlands or hunting then he could be found doing chores around the camp, sniffing Valentine out, or possibly he was never found. He liked it that way, sometimes. It gave him time to be private and write and draw in his journal.

  
If Arthur was to be honest, he didn’t think Valentine was too bad of a town. It stunk, that was for sure, but it was comfortable. Excluding the few O’Driscolls lurking about, it was friendly. If Arthur was a farmer, he could see himself living nearby. But he was an outlaw, ever since he was young, there was no changing now. There was no point in even dwelling on it.

  
The morning light finally drove him from his slumber about the livestock that gets sold at Valentine. It’s like he could still smell them as he sat up on his cot and it drove him crazy. Stupid animals.

  
In the cool morning air, the cot didn’t feel too bad. It was nowhere near the softness of a hotel bed but it was better than the ground. One fleece blanket was enough to chase away most of the cold, body heat and simple sleeping clothes covered the rest. Maybe another blanket will be added for the next morning, considering how the underside of the cot was considerably cooler.

  
After sighing and tossing under the blanket, Arthur finally got up to put on his equipment and clothes, stashing his sleepware in his chest. He paused to check over his journal, specifically what he wrote last night. He was tired at the time but it made sense, for once. And it was positive. Hopeful of what’s to come.

  
Hosea greeted him with a cup of steaming coffee when he left his tent. He looked well in the strengthening sunlight, he was clearly getting over his own little sickness from the mountains. He and Jack were feeling under the weather up there, it was good to see that both were feeling better.

  
“Good morning, Arthur,” Hosea greeted. He handed over the coffee. Probably prepared it himself, meaning he would put some sort of sugar in it to make it sweeter. Or he would put something absolutely unknown to Arthur in it that would make it even richer.

  
“Mornin’, Hosea.” It was a sweet coffee, the kind that Hosea first made for Arthur to introduce him to the liquid. “How are you?”

  
“Oh, I’m good. I’m good… how are you liking it here?”

  
“It beats the snow. It’ll do until we can leave again,” Arthur sighed.

  
Hosea patted Arthur’s shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. A gesture all too familiar with the younger man. “Head up, son. We’ll be out of here soon enough. We just need to do some work.”

  
“Any ideas?”

  
“Uncle wanted to head into town,” Hosea waved in the direction of the wagon with horses hooked up to it, “go with him and sniff around. Some of the boys… Javier, Charles, and Bill are in town, too. Visit them if you have to. Just stop pacing around camp. Have a glass of whiskey or two to unwind. Just no wild antics.”

  
“Aw you know I gave that stuff up, Hosea.” Arthur acted offended. He finished his coffee as Hosea chuckled and headed off to a different part of camp.

  
Uncle was propped up against one of the wagon’s wheels when Arthur came by. The drunk was sleeping! Sneering, Arthur kicked the man’s legs and stood over him. “Get up, old man.”

  
~*~

  
Jimmy Brooks. That was the man who saw Arthur and Arthur made sure to write that name down in his journal so he’d never forget. He couldn’t believe he thought no one would recognize them from Blackwater. They—he—was a fool, he was such a goddamn fool. Only a fool would think they were well in the clear from what they pulled in Blackwater. Maybe what rattled him just as much, maybe even more, was when Jimmy called him a good man. All because Arthur didn’t let the man fall to his death.

  
And then he was gifted a pen. A fucking ink pen that would only be worth selling.

  
After returning the horse Arthur borrowed, he headed to the bar to check on the men there. Bill was nowhere to be seen but Charles and Javier were at the bar with some women standing between them. Arthur’s lip twitched and eyebrows furrowed involuntarily. It looked like they were enjoying themselves. Yeah, most likely since the men had their hands on the women and only Charles removed himself and looked awkward when their eyes met. Sure, the women looked good, but Arthur wasn’t interested. Standing straighter, he decided to approach.

  
“Arthur, Arthur, come here!” Javier called. He drew Arthur in with a hand resting between his shoulder blades. “I want you to meet our friends.”

  
“Well ain’t you just the tough as teak mountain man?” the one with the large breasts, the redhead, greeted.

  
“Oh, you be quiet, Anastasia, anyone can tell this one is a pussycat,” her friend, the one Charles was sidled up to, said.

  
Javier laughed shakily. “Exactly, yes, he’s a pussy… cat.” The man kept his attention on the women, completely entranced. “Ain’t that so, Arthur?”

  
“Whatever you say.” Arthur rocked back on his heels and tucked his thumbs into his belt. Truthfully, he didn’t care what they were talking about. “How much you cost, anyway?” He had to raise his head a bit to look at them from under the brim of his hat. With that action, it made him seem just a bit taller.

  
“Well ain’t that a nice way to talk to a lady?” Anastasia growled playfully.

  
“Oh, I didn’t know I was talkin’ to a lady.”  
Anastasia frowned. She stopped leaning on the bar and started to move away.

“Excuse me.” Her friend decided to leave with her.

  
“Well… I must say, you got a fine way with the ladies, amigo,” Javier said. Disappointment tinged his voice but with his luck, he’ll have another woman by the night if he sticks around. Charles, on the other hand, was back to being his quiet and reserved self as Arthur took the new spot between the two.

  
“Yeah, a regular dandy and charmer,” Arthur grumbled.

  
The barkeeper poured them each a shot, Arthur paid. He couldn’t order too much, he had to keep a clear head. No funny business, no trouble. If those two wanted more to drink, they can buy it themselves. It was bad enough Arthur couldn’t enjoy himself but what was even worse was the fact most of his money was in Blackwater. Along with all their luck and the gang’s own money.

  
“Where’s Bill?” His question was answered for him when the man came bursting through the swinging doors, right into another patron. Bill, the hothead, decided to purposefully push the man this time. Pushed the man away so he had enough room to wind his fist back for a punch.

  
Arthur ordered another quick drink as Charles and Javier leaped to their feet to assist in the barfight. So much for keeping their heads low. Of fucking course it’s Bill Williamson who gets them in trouble.

  
A man looking for a fight in the wrong direction got a kick to the back of his knee by Arthur. To his luck, he stayed on his feet and managed to deliver a punch to Arthur’s cheek that sent his hat off his head. It sent a jolt through the outlaw. He always enjoyed fighting with his fists or even knives. Getting up close and personal got his blood pumping in a different way than using a pistol or rifle does. He likes to see the damage he does. That, and feeling bones crunch under his knuckles could sometimes cause a chill over his skin like a fresh breeze of air.

  
Invigorated, Arthur was ready for the next punch and quickly snuck his own in after dodging. He knew how to control the fight once he got into the rhythm. He could get in a few more punches until the man swung again. His fist hit only the thick muscle of Arthur’s forearm before the outlaw swung again and again and again. The man was predictable, easily. He had clearly been here for a while, aiming to get drunk already in the morning; unlike Arthur. Two shots also meant nothing to Arthur’s system.

  
Arthur gave one swift hit to the man’s temple before his body turned limp and fell to the ground. Next victim was the man about to unleash on Bill’s guts. It seemed the best choice since Bill was being held to the wall by two other men and Charles and Javier were faring well enough with their own assailants.

  
The new opponent was sober, triggering excitement and dismay within Arthur. They threw punches at each other and blocked when necessary. Arthur was clearly winning but the man wasn’t giving in as easily as one would think. He did his best to block and dodge punches and did his best to deliver punches that were as hard as possible. The final two punches each sounded with a crack, one to the nose and the other to a cheekbone.

  
“What the hell is going on down here?” a voice roared from the top of the stairs. There was a man bigger than Arthur trotting down the stairs.

  
“No, Tommy, stay outta this!” the bartender pleaded.

  
“Come here you little greaser.” Javier was already approaching the man but calling him a greaser always set him off. Arthur began to set off toward them but something slammed into the back of his head then arms wrapped around his neck.

  
Arthur’s blood sang happily in his veins. His arms felt nearly numb with the adrenaline running through them. Despite his air trying to get cut off, and stinging backside, he felt quite well. He swung his elbow back into his new assailant's ribs until he was released. The man, dazed, only required one hit before he joined the others on the ground.

  
Tommy was slamming Javier against the front table on the right side when Arthur came over. Arthur aimed a (what he thought was good) punch to the back of Tommy’s balding head. When the bulky man turned, Arthur delivered another punch to his chest. He grabbed Tommy’s shoulders the same time Tommy grabbed his neck. Tommy jabbed him quick, disorienting him, then threw him over the table. Arthur didn’t have much time to roll around on the floor because the man was on him again and threw him straight through the window.

  
Arthur was smart enough to have his eyes closed. His forehead hit the glass first and shattered all around it. He was vaguely aware of his shoulders meeting wood before meeting mud. He rolled over in the mud almost twice so he could have enough momentum to get to his feet as Tommy came down the stairs.

  
“Come on, pretty boy,” the man goaded.

  
“Pretty boy? You’re kidding me! Pretty boy?!” Arthur spat. It was raining and he was now muddy. He was not vain but there were limits of what he would put his body and equipment through. Mud was messy and annoying but most importantly could clog his weapons. He was no damn pretty boy.

  
He leapt toward Tommy. He landed a hit before he was pushed away. It gave him time to think and see. Charles, Javier, and Bill exited the saloon and stood on the porch, and there was a crowd gathering, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that Tommy had power and meat to him. He was a worthy opponent, to Arthur. However, he seemed to be one to run his mouth, goading him could be useful like how he started to goad Arthur rather successfully.

  
“You’re even slower than you look,” Arthur growled. It worked. The man shouted and went for the outlaw. Arthur slipped out of the way at the last moment. He landed only a few punches before a beefy fist came out of nowhere and nearly knocked him sideways. The smaller man backed away quickly to blink some of the sweat, rain, and mud away from his eyes.

  
“You okay, Arthur?” Charles asked from the porch. He was the only one standing ready to assist. Bill stood against a pole and Javier sat on the steps, watching.

  
“Yeah, I got this son of a bitch.”

  
They traded more punches when they met again. Arthur landed a few before Tommy started to get the upper hand. A fist blinded Arthur long enough for his ribs to receive a beating. When he started to curl in on himself, against the pain and to try to get his air back, Tommy grabbed and twisted his ears and pushed him away. With legs like noodles, Arthur took odd steps before receiving another punch that made him spin like a lady trying on a new dress. He was on his hands and knees when an arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him to his feet again.

  
People chanted and urged them to fight more. They wanted blood. They may not even be rooting for either man. They just want to see blood. Like the ancient days, in Rome or something (or that’s what Hosea once said). It must be nearly the entire town watching. No sheriff or deputies, though, because otherwise the fight should have been ended by now. Unless they were also thirsty for a show.

  
Like inside the saloon, Arthur used his elbow against ribs to free himself. It took too many hits for his liking. They separated, each taking steps in their own direction. Whipping around nearly made Arthur fall back in the mud. There was no traction. Good thing they’re fighting with fists or else this would end up like they were trying to catch pigs.

  
Too headstrong, Arthur closed in on Tommy. He attempted to duck but instead felt his head fly back from a punch. Then an uppercut and another punch to his ribs. Winded, Arthur flailed an arm. Hit nothing. Instead, as his head came back down, a hit forced it back to the side. When he was staring at Tommy again, the man’s rough hands grabbed his ears. He was effortlessly lifted from the ground then put on his side. A beefy hand never left the side of his face as it tried to make him meet the mud.

  
Arthur writhed underneath the man as he fought to keep his head up. He couldn’t afford to meet the ground, not with the crowd and part of the gang watching. Some of it was pride, yes, losing to an oaf would definitely put a damper on Arthur altogether for a few days. But most importantly, Arthur couldn’t let himself lose in a fight with some town bully. He was an outlaw, since he was young. He was raised to kill and take what’s rightfully his. Possibly dying to Tommy… well that’s just embarrassing and not acceptable.

  
Twisting, Arthur put as much strength into a punch that he could muster. It pushed Tommy back and gave Arthur a window to kick him in the balls. Low blow, but it was a shot to take. It thankfully reversed their roles. Arthur made sure to keep himself low over Tommy as he grabbed the man by the collar of the shirt and punched. He swung his arm back as far as he could, like he was taught, and punched. Anger and excitement fueled adrenaline. He couldn’t feel his knuckles but by the end of this they will be bruised. Punch after punch. Tommy’s face was getting redder. Punch, another punch. Tommy was struggling less.

  
Arthur pulled his arm back again, sure that this last hit would still the man below him. Then a man entered his space. Arms outstretched with white sleeves half covering them got his attention, along with the shouted, “Stop! Stop that, please!” The stranger lightly touched Arthur’s shoulders as the outlaw straightened. “You won the fight already, isn’t that enough?”

  
“What business of it is yours?” Arthur pushed through his teeth. Interrupted. His body felt hollow, for a moment, before he started feeling everything. He released Tommy and stumbled to his feet. His numb legs kept him going, pushing the man away and through the crowd and to the general store’s porch.

  
Everything started lighting up after that. Arthur became aware of his throbbing head and the way his dominant shoulder protested with any movement and the way his backside whined from the several beatings it took. His ribs were far worse than his back, since they definitely took even more of a beating. _It hurt to breathe!_

  
It was in that moment, when Arthur was getting ready to lick his wounds, Dutch decided to show up with Josiah Trelawny in tow. The man, graceful in his own… obscure way, bowed to Arthur. Funny, it was. Here the two were, dressed up in their usual clothes that normally outshined Arthur’s, but even more so now that Arthur looked like he actually rolled in a pig pen.

  
Arthur moved to sit on the steps to catch his breath as Trelawny spoke. Dutch stood in front of him, bending over slightly to study the younger man but Arthur kept his attention on Trelawny. Dutch wasn’t smiling but he wasn’t frowning either. Pleased with what he saw, he stood and acknowledged the approaching party Arthur was with. It made Arthur feel slightly better, knowing that Bill and Javier were suffering from their own wounds and Charles looked unscathed. If he were doped up in some sort of way he may have laughed.

  
They listened to Dutch talk. Sean was alive and being held in Blackwater by some bounty hunters, according to Trelawny. It was good and bad. Sean’s alive, good. Sean’s in Blackwater, bad. They’re wanted criminals in Blackwater. They set one foot in that city and they’re dead.

  
Dutch scolded Bill when orders were given out. Arthur didn’t miss Charles hanging back when he sought out the barrel he noticed filled with water. He also didn’t miss how the man quietly followed him, even though Javier and Trelawny left. He stayed quiet as Arthur dunked his head and washed the mud out of his hair and off his face. It was… well, Arthur didn’t rightly know. It felt like a feather tickled his lungs but it wasn’t exactly his lungs that were tickled, it was somewhere near. It definitely wasn’t his ribs, although they were singing a song of pain.

  
“Enjoy the show?” Arthur murmured as he briefly washed his hands to push the water off his face. When he looked to Charles, the man’s dark eyes stared at the water thoughtfully. They glided to his own eyes, nearly taking Arthur’s breath away because he wasn’t expecting… _that_.

  
Despite the man’s usual blankness, there was the tiniest of smirks in the corner of his lip. “Perhaps.”

  
Arthur chuckled, the action short and choppy thanks to his ribs. He shook his head and turned his head away, carefully keeping his smile constructed on his face. He was no fool, or maybe he was. But panic, only a feeling that has brief shows with him, fluttered in his chest. Panic tickled his chest like that other unknown feeling that he wished to ignore. No, he’s a definite fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the last half of this at 4 am. I took some pain medication that had caffeine in it. This wasn’t the first time. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson. 
> 
> I’m working on chapter 3 still. I didn’t progress much because I’ve been playing RDR2 a lot over break. It shouldn’t take long to finish since I know what’s going to happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think everything's correct?
> 
> Uh huh yeehaw 
> 
> Enjoy ಠ‿↼

According to Hosea, Swanson was at the station south of camp and he had something for Arthur. That could wait for tomorrow, or whenever Arthur gets back. He spent most of the day sleeping so he could head over to Blackwater tonight and meet the others there. They had to get Sean out as soon as possible. With the amount of time that’s past already, there was no telling how much longer he had left. Arthur couldn’t wait to get the kid out of there and return to camp. Hosea also had a hunting trip scheduled for the two of them.

Javier and Charles were perched on a shadowed edge overlooking Blackwater when Arthur arrived. They talked with low voices and were hidden well in the bushes. Under the cover of pale morning light, they were easily overlooked. Had it not been for the tent a few good paces behind them and their horses, Arthur would’ve had a harder time trying to find them. Although they couldn’t risk trying to camp closer or they risked detection.

They greeted him quietly and stayed silent as Arthur studied Blackwater himself. Authorities were sprinkled about, nearly everywhere so nothing would go under their noses. It would be impossible to get all of that money now. They’d have to wait a long time if they were to sneak in. Their best option was to gather enough money and head west. Leave everything else, including the money in Blackwater, behind. There was nothing left for them here. 

Trelawny arrived soon enough. He brought news of Sean. He’s getting moved up the river with the bounty hunters to a camp where they’ll trade him off. Up to a federal prison is next for him. Somewhere they can’t ever go.

Arthur sent Charles to the opposite side of the river before he headed out with Trelawny and Javier. He led them up the river until they spotted the boat. By then, Trelawny took over and kept them equal with the boat. He kept the two outlaws calm, assuring that they looked like simple men on a ride to the men in the boat.

Slippery and shrouded as Trelawny can be, it was nice to see him again. He has a fancy way of talking, which sometimes sets Arthur off, but he’s trustworthy and gets good leads. Plus, as far as the law was concerned, he has nothing to do with the Van der Linde gang. That made it possible for him to blend in with civilization and return with information.

They followed the boat until it reached the end of the river. Looking through binoculars, it was definitely Sean. Charles was perched on the other side, waving at them and knowing that he was being looked at through the binoculars. Smart man, it made a faint smirk grow on Arthur’s lips. Must have been watching them with his sharp gaze and was waiting for them to pull out binoculars. They headed down to the river and waited for Trelawny to work his magic. He distracted the two remaining boat guards until Arthur and Javier dropped them silently.

It was like clockwork. Arthur and Javier moved up through the canyon with no problems and dealt with all the men who tried to shoot them down. With Charles providing cover from above, Arthur felt like he could’ve just kept moving on through. He wasn’t stupid enough to do so, though.

“Above!” Javier called, “Charles!  

Arthur wasted no time raising his repeater. He shot the man standing closest to the ledge and that’s when he realized Charles was having a hatchet-to-machete fight one cliff higher. They were moving around too much for a clear shot. When Charles was knocked back, Arthur took the chance. The bounty hunter’s head exploded on impact and the body toppled to the side.

They went up the small path that led them out of the canyon. Charles was getting to his feet and into a stance that showed he was ready to move again.

“You good?”

Charles looked at Arthur and gave a curt nod. He pulled out his sawed-off. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s get going,” Javier said as he passed them.

Javier led the way to the bounty hunters’ camp. Hanging upside down, tied to a tree, was Sean. He was spitting curses at everyone as he dangled. It was a funny sight, his accent added to it. He wasn’t so cocky when he was in the open, completely vulnerable, and when bullets were flying. Taking their time wasn’t an option but keeping him strung up while they looted some was a valid choice. When the time came to it, Arthur took his time looking around and looting before cutting Sean down.

“Y’know, Arthur, you look a lot less pretty from this angle,” Sean greeted from the ground.

“Good to know,” Arthur grumbled. He crouched down to cut the man free, deciding to shove him over while he was at it.

“That’s not very nice. You treat all your royal subjects this way, King Arthur?” When he got no answer, Sean scoffed. “How typical an’ _rude_. You’re almost as bad as my capturers. Though they at least spoke to me.”

Arthur stood to his full height and sighed inwardly. Sean seemed to be his normal chatty self and Arthur was going to take advantage of that. Poor Javier, already had his ear chewed off by Josiah was now going to get his other ear chewed off by Sean. 

“Javier, bring Sean back to camp. It’s best if we split up. So, Charles.” He motioned in the direction of camp. It was a message within itself, find your own way back.

Charles turned Taima around to follow Javier’s path across the bridge. Knowing him, he’ll make sure he takes a different route and that route will most likely be scenic. He and Arthur stared at one another for a moment before he gave one of his nods. “I’ll see you tonight, Arthur.”

Arthur gave him a little salute. He whistled for his Tennessee walker as Charles trotted away. Now on to finding Swanson and seeing what he has to offer.

~*~

The camp was humming with energy when Charles arrived. The sun was currently setting and Arthur wasn’t back yet but it appeared as though Sean’s arrival was already getting celebrated. He trotted around camp with a large grin plastered on his face and swing in his step and a beer in his hand. He and the others were clearly glad that he was back. Pearson was even preparing a pot of stew that smelled like it contained more than just the basic meats and vegetables. 

He took a longer route back to camp, deciding to go through Valentine for a meal and then to hunt some birds for their flight feathers. With the extra meat he collected, he decided to turn half of it in to Pearson and decided to cook the other half for himself. He was not wasteful, he would never leave good meat behind. Plus, the meat was good for meals when he was out of camp for some time.

Dutch greeted the Irishman with a hearty pat on the back and gripped his shoulders and shook him teasingly. Charles kept his distance. It wasn’t his moment and if he was wanted then he will be called. He and Sean have been in the gang for about the same amount of time but that didn’t mean they were close. Sean, in fact, seemed to be a thorn in some people’s sides, Arthur’s in particular. Charles can remember Sean when they were fresh to the gang. He spoke on and on, running his sentences together, especially when he had Arthur in his sights. He managed to drive Arthur out of camp on more than one occasion.

The sun had nearly set when Arthur rode into camp with Swanson thrown over his horse’s rump. Charles had hidden away along the edge of camp with a repeater in hand. He decided to take guard duty, let the more senior members celebrate. As long as they didn’t get stupid while they were drunk, Dutch was alright with nobody on watch. But Charles didn’t mind none, he wanted a clear head tonight. Besides, the sky was calming and the temperature wasn’t too bitey this night. It was perfect for celebration and thinking.

Sean gave a drunken speech that the gang cheered and toasted to. After that, he pestered Arthur while the older man was getting some stew then stumbled away. Charles mostly listened but when he was in view he watched.

Arthur ate his stew quickly and was sitting around the fire with Uncle, Pearson, Javier, and Sean when Uncle started singing Ring Dang Doo. A catchy song but something Charles wouldn’t sing. He decided to do a few laps around camp as he listened. His trained ears easily picked out each of the men’s voices as he still listened to the wilderness. When he found himself listening too intently to Arthur’s voice, he steered his feet to the trees and watched the paths into camp.

They partied on and Charles’ body began to relent. He found a stool and sat at the entrance of camp. The jittery energy has left him, for the time being. It allowed him to relax and stare up at the starry sky. The beautiful dark blues, purples, and rustic colors created something he can’t properly bring to words. Maybe some night soon he’ll find a safe spot in an open field and camp there for the night. Sleep under the stars without anyone to pester him, maybe even no fire so his view won’t be disturbed.

Mary-Beth roped Arthur into dancing to a tune on the phonograph when he was done singing by the fire. He looked calm enough, though he was stiff throughout the fancy song. Charles turned his attention back to the trees until that’s all he heard. The trees rustling in the calm breeze and the night wildlife scurrying. An owl was hooting occasionally.

The moon shined down on them when another tune picked up. It was somber, something about a cowboy and Arthur was singing again with a whiskey bottle in hand. Charles had thought about grabbing his own bottle but decided against it. Soon enough, people will be passing out and the camp will be quiet enough for him to get some rest. At least if no one is awake and a stranger happens to stumble across them, they’ll hopefully appear as a group of people who partied too hard in the woods.

Arthur’s humming of the cowboy song steadily grew louder. A bottle of whiskey was presented to Charles out of the corner of his eye. He shook his head and huffed out a quiet chuckle. “No thank you, Arthur.”

“Suit yourself,” the man murmured. He dropped himself onto his ass on the dirt right beside Charles. A bottle of whiskey was already in his hands but he finished that off quickly to start on the one he just offered Charles. It looked like Charles was going to be the only sober one in camp tonight.

“Enjoying yourself tonight?” Charles asked quietly, genuinely. It wasn’t every day you live in a gang and party like a long lost brother returned.

Arthur raised his head to look at Charles, frowning slightly. He was clearly inebriated, especially judging by the way anger crossed his face then melted into a thoughtful expression. He wasn’t wild like the truest drunk Arthur is, so maybe that was a good thing. Charles wouldn’t know what that’s like until he sees it with his own eyes, as Arthur’s drunk acts have only been told in stories.

“‘s alright. ‘s good to have Sean back but we can’t forget ‘bout th’ law after us,” Arthur spoke reasonably. It wasn’t _clear_ , his tongue was affected, but his mind was still running strong. How many whiskeys would it take to get him wild?

“Dutch says we need money.”

“An’ Dutch’s right but we gotta be careful.”

Charles, who was looking down the path once more, looked down at Arthur again as the man sloppily pulled out his journal and flipped to the most recent page. There was his neat writing on the right page, done before he started drinking, but he started doodling on the left page. It was no business of Charles’ so he looked away.

Murmuring of the camp, the wilderness, and the sound of Arthur scratching on paper filled his ears. The man worked in his journal with devotion and surprisingly didn’t cover or try to hide what he was drawing when Charles made it obvious that he was peeking. He was drawing a man. The outlines were done but he was slowly working on details. Charles was admittingly curious but he again decided to turn away.

At some point, his eyes closed and enough time past for him to question what happened. Arthur had his head buried in his journal, seeming more protective over it now but not hiding it completely. He decided to speak, drawing Charles’ attention to him instead of his notebook. “Should get some rest, ‘stead of sleepin’ upwards.”

“I may when everyone settles,” Charles replied.

Arthur snickered. “They’re settlin’. Listen closely an’ y’won’t be able to hear Sean hollerin’ no more.”

Arthur was right. If the life of the party is gone then there isn’t really a party anymore. Some people still talked but it was low and sounded like talk before bed. Charles’ own bedding called him. Just thinking about the warmth and listening to Hosea’s and Lenny’s breathing while they slept was tempting.

A nearby lantern allowed Charles to see some of what Arthur was drawing before he closed his journal. It was still a man with a lot of pencil over him. Charles didn’t get to see who but he was somewhat dark in color. Maybe someone Arthur met on the road while he was out today. It wasn’t his business, Charles won’t pry.

He stood, hearing a few joints crack as he stretched. Then he heard something. Two voices raised and they were moaning. Charles sighed and let his shoulders slump with the exhale. So much for getting sleep now.

Arthur stood next to him and let out his own air that sounded like a laugh. “Sounds like Sean an’ Karen. Don’t worry, he won’t last long.” He put a hand on Charles’ shoulder and squeezed before putting some distance between them. His eyes, looking warmer than usual, met Charles’. “See ya in the mornin’.” Then he was off to his tent.

Charles watched the man until he was on his cot and removing his boots. Hosea was wrapped in his bedroll for the night so Charles silently snuck into his own between Hosea’s and Lenny’s. Hopefully, Lenny was faring alright with Micah, wherever they were at the moment. He took his time getting settled and it turned out that Arthur was right about Sean. The renewed quietness calmed the remains of Charles’ awake consciousness and darkness took him in its arms when he closed his eyes.

When morning came around, Charles was the first one awake. He settled on a stool, sharpening his knife and preparing arrows while watching the others wake. Some stumbled out of their tents like they were still drunk and others held their heads and swore they’ll never drink again. Hosea woke without any issues and greeted Charles with a knowing smirk. It put a smile on Charles’ own face, especially when it was Arthur’s turn to wake up and the man simply sat on his cot for a minute, shook his head, then met Charles’ gaze with something of a smile of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked the switch to Charles. I don't think I delved too deep but I'm satisfied with this so... yeah. You guys liked the first chapter when it was from his view so I wanted to give again. 
> 
> Work on chapter 4 is going swell. I'm going to mess with the tags soon? Honestly tagging kinda scares me so I've been avoiding updating them but ugh. I should soon. I feel like there's something else too but I can't remember. 
> 
> And sorry if the notes are acting up. For me, it's showing notes from the first chapter but I don't know how to fix it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, FIRST THING'S FIRST:  
> SILVER DOLLAR IS A STALLION OR GELDING IN-GAME BUT IN THIS STORY HE WILL BE A SHE BECAUSE I FORGOT TO CHECK BEFORE I STARTED WRITING AND I AM TOO LAZY TO CHANGE IT  
> sorry ┐(´～｀)┌
> 
> I didn't really check/read this chapter over but Grammarly seemed cool with it so...

Arthur got lucky. The amount of alcohol he drank last night should have maimed him more in the morning than it actually did. He only woke with a moderate headache, which somehow lightened when he looked over and saw Charles smiling at him. And his stupid self decided to smile back. He hid his face soon after that and changed his clothes so he wouldn’t have to look that way anymore. All he decided to change was his shirt, to just a simple grey thing and then put on his black hunting jacket.

Only about half of the gang was up and they were acting miserable. Javier sat by the fire with John and Uncle and they were just sort of sitting there. Pearson was going through the motions of preparing food and Swanson was sitting in his tent, bleary-eyed. He was unconscious during the whole party. Otherwise, everyone else appeared to still be asleep, minus Hosea and Charles and maybe Dutch and Molly if the murmuring in their tent was anything to go by. All of the other women seemed to be asleep and that O’Driscoll was somewhere around unconscious.

“Arthur.” Hosea approached Arthur’s tent. He wrung his hands together as thoughts raced through his head. He collected himself easily and flashed a brief smile. “I’m going to go pack the horses up. We are going to stop by Valentine first, trade in that black shire over there. Bring some extra clothes if you need them. That thousand-pound bear will be waiting for us.”

“Sure thing,” Arthur said. He grabbed another shirt but decided that the rest of his current clothes will be fine to wear for a few more days. There was enough dried meat and snacks in his satchel if he or Hosea get hungry along the way. There were guns with his saddle… Arthur believed he was ready.

Hosea met Arthur halfway to the horses, by the table near the front of camp that’s riddled with knife marks where they play five finger fillet. The older man was looking well, so much better than how he looked in the mountains. Crazy what some fresh air and warmth will do to a person, in Hosea’s case.

“Ready, son?” he asked. “Best we get near enough before the sun starts setting on us. I don’t feel like hunting a bear at night. He’ll see us before we see him.”

“If you say so,” Arthur murmured. His saddle was placed on the shire’s back already so he added his gear before hauling himself onto the tall steed’s back. The horse snorted and stomped a hoof, clearly not happy about having a rider.

Hosea was ready to climb onto Silver Dollar but paused with his hands on his saddle, ready to pull himself up. His gaze was on someone else… “Charles! Why don’t you join us?”

Both men, Arthur and Charles, looked at Hosea. Charles glanced between the two at the horses with his lips slightly parted. “Are… are you sure?”

“Yeah, sure, why not. Taking the best two trackers of the gang may be beneficial. With you two, we will grab that bear’s trail with a snap and never lose it.” Hosea laughed. “Come, come. It’s good company, too.”

“Hosea?” Arthur asked only loud enough for the man to hear. He’d never reject Charles’ presence but he thought it would be a few days, just him and Hosea. Like the old days when it was only them on hunting trips while Dutch would hold down the fort with the gang or just relax because the gang wasn’t quite around yet. Like the days when Hosea had to drag Arthur out hunting because he was too irate to be around civilization so he had to be redirected to release his energy elsewhere. Hunting only went so far, so Hosea made him adopt fishing and writing in journals.

“You’d like to spend time with him, right?” Hosea teased. He grinned. _That sly old man…_ “Oh, I see it in your eyes. Of all the people the gang, I’m the only one you can’t fool.”

Arthur snapped his body to look away from Hosea. Charles mounted Taima and he appeared to be ready so they set out to Valentine. Hosea told Charles about the bear while they rode but Arthur stayed relatively quiet. However, not completely quiet due to the shire trying to show that he had power. He tossed his head and tried multiple times to switch up his steps enough to get Arthur to fall off. Arthur was not having any of it. He yanked on the reins once and a while and made sure to kick the horse meanly with his spurs. The shire even stopped once, refusing to move, so Arthur forced him to walk backward for five minutes at the least, definitely until it felt like the black beast was going to rear and fall back just to get Arthur off.

“Who taught you how to break horses?” Charles inquired. He brought Taima to the shire’s side. Valentine was ahead. Arthur’s pissed visage turned to him so he simply put his hands up. “I’m asking because I’m interested.”

Arthur nodded but his features stayed hard. “Hosea an’ Dutch an’ a bit of myself.”

“Dutch would call him the ‘horse whisperer’ because he was pretty decent at taming horses when he was still new to it,” Hosea added.

“Couldn’t ever stay on Count’s back…”

“That brute doesn’t count. He’s just one of them animals who has to choose their master and he chose Dutch.”

To Arthur, it used to be a sore topic, sometimes it still is. Dutch made his head get big with the amount of praise he got at the time. He was so sure that Arthur would be able to get on Count’s back and take him for a ride. After all, he could ride Silver Dollar, Hosea’s mild-manner mare, with no issues. Then the day came when Arthur was allowed to mount the albino Arabian and that horse bucked him off faster than a cow ever has. Arthur swore he passed out when he hit the ground, Hosea said he just had the wind knocked out of him and wanted to make the situation more extreme than it actually was.

“Boadicea was some of the same, if you never realized, Arthur,” Hosea continued. He caught the younger man’s attention again. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh-ho, yes. Did you never notice how her ears went back every time someone other than you or I would take care of her? Nearly kicked Bill in the head one time. I think she was even beginning to warm up to you, Charles.”

Boadicea was Arthur’s first ever horse. Hosea haggled her off—or more like stole her from—a farmer with enough horses to spare. She was only a few years old so Arthur had the joy of raising her. He got to experience training a horse. She responded well and quickly to him and adapted to everything. It wasn’t even hard to desensitize her, which Hosea said could be possibly difficult. Years and years of love put into that horse and she was shot dead from underneath Arthur. She had taken him down with her and pinned his leg underneath her weight. She tried to get up again and again but was unable to understand why she couldn’t. She whinnied as Arthur tried to escape but pain in his leg and heart fired up every time Boadicea moved. He left a bit more behind in Blackwater than others did.

Valentine greeted them with its familiar livestock smell. Plenty of sheep were in the pens in the center of the selling area. Hosea didn’t allow much time to watch because he was heading to the stables with purpose. When they arrived, Arthur dismounted and led the shire inside.

“I’m going to run to the general store for a few things. Charles, stay here. Help Arthur with any purchases if he needs them,” he said, “please.”

Was he saying Arthur can’t make sensible purchases? Just when Arthur decided to retort, the older man was already out of easy earshot and the stablehand was ready. The stablehand bought the shire off Arthur for a decent amount of cash. If they had papers, he would have sold for more. Doesn’t matter, a horse with that type of attitude wouldn’t sell for much anyway.

“Well seeing as you don’t have a horse to ride, are you interested in any you see here?” the stablehand asked.

Arthur looked to Charles. He was brushing Taima but returned his gaze when he felt eyes on him. He nodded then returned to his work. Arthur repeated the motion to the stablehand.

There were a few horses at the stable available for purchase. Two were out of Arthur’s price range but there was a little trail horse. Only problem was that it was a trail horse. Clearly not built for heavy riding like most horses of the gang are.

“D’ya have anything… sturdier?” Arthur asked. He really didn’t want a trail horse.

The stablehand mumbled something under his breath. He removed his hat to run a hand down his face then replaced his hat. “I do, sir. Was sort of hoping no one’d ask. Come over here.”

At the far end of the barn, there were two shadowed pens. One contained a thoroughbred and the other contained an Ardennes. They were definitely sturdy. Both horses stood tall, the thoroughbred was the tallest but the Ardennes was the strongest. They were stunning, especially coming from a livestock town.

“These horses are free. Some city man came through, gave them to us without any papers and paid us off to sell them for no money. Sounded shady but…” The stablehand gestured toward the two. “I can give them both to you. You can take one for now and I’ll keep the other stabled here. All I ask is that you maybe buy something while you’re here.”

Arthur nodded his head numbly. He wasn’t expecting free horses. The thoroughbred even looked a bit like Boadicea, with the similar wild dark pelt and the frame of a tall horse. This horse was a mare, too, and she also had a warm look in her eyes.

“Sure, I’ll take this one first and I’ll buy a saddle while I’m here,” Arthur decided.

“I’ll go get some. What’ll you name ‘er?” The stablehand put a rope halter on the thoroughbred and led her out of the stall. He left her in Arthur’s care while he brought out saddles.

What should he name a horse that reminded him of his first and very previous horse? The thoroughbred looked like she was smiling at the moment, with the way the corners of her lips were pulled back. Her fuzzy horse lips looked funny. It reminded Arthur of that cat from a story Hosea would read or have Arthur read when he was younger. It was a crazy story that didn’t make much sense until Hosea would explain things. And then there was that cryptic cat. Maybe the horse didn’t look like that cat probably did but her reverse dapple pelt and grey and black mane and tail gave her a wild look. It didn’t match with the calmness of her eyes, especially since her mane was styled naturally in a short mohawk.

Arthur decided. “Cheshire.”

“Interesting name.”

Saddles were displayed while Arthur kissed to the horse and patted her neck. Only a few saddles caught his eye and he chose a black and brown one that was definitely on the premium side. Cheshire was tackled and she thankfully accepted the bit without issue.

“Now from what I gathered from that city man, this horse was supposed to be a racehorse. Never said why, though. Maybe she’s too tall,” the stablehand explained as Arthur saddled up. “But she’ll carry you well.”

“Thanks,” Arthur said.

Charles and Hosea were waiting outside on their horses. Both observed the horse before Hosea turned Silver Dollar and led them out of Valentine. Cheshire stood taller than Silver Dollar, and Silver Dollar was already a tall horse. Maybe the stablehand was right, the thoroughbred would have been too tall of a racehorse.

“She looks worthy,” Hosea admired. He had a thin smile on his face. It was like he was looking at Arthur and Boadicea again. He looked proud.

Murmuring, Arthur ducked his head to stare down at the fancy saddle horn, “Let's hope she is.”

~*~

They arrived in the East Grizzlies with some daylight left. It was a decent ride, one that was probably dragged out because it was Hosea leading them. Meaning he, of course, wanted to spend time out of camp but also he couldn’t push himself too hard while he was still recovering from the mountains. But it was a nice ride. There were respectful silences and times where they all talked and times when Hosea would tell stories of his or his and Arthur’s past.

He talked of Bessie mostly, memories that were spotty in Arthur’s head. When he met her, she cooed at him and expressed _what an adorable young man_ Hosea and Dutch adopted. She was a good woman, one who suited Hosea like Dutch does. Then Hosea disappeared with her for only about a year until he came back to resume living with Dutch and Arthur. Hosea never said much about that part, there probably wasn’t much to tell.

They were coming around a bend that led downhill when Hosea slowed them down. Some rabbits scuffled across their path and continued downwards.

“Rabbits, Arthur,” Hosea pointed out. He made a little noise. “Why don’t you go get one while Charles and I set up camp? Use a reasonable weapon, please. I saw what you brought back last time when you went hunting rabbits.”

“Sure.” He got off Cheshire, grabbing his bow.

When they thought he was out of earshot, Charles asked quietly, “What happened last time?”

“Oh, he went hunting with his sawed-off.”

Arthur shook his head and decided to just concentrate on hunting. Hosea will tell stories if he wants to, it’s hard stopping that man once he has started.

There were a few trails leading down the hill that he followed. Once he actually saw movement, he raised the bow. There were a couple rabbits eating the brush. Arthur aimed at the one most exposed and released the arrow. All the rabbits fled except the one with an arrow impaling its neck.

Camp was pretty much set up when Arthur returned. Charles was stroking the fire with a stick while Hosea sat on a little stool. He got to skinning the rabbit and began preparing the meat.

“You want some, Hosea?”

“No thanks, Arthur. I don’t like to eat this late at night,” Hosea answered quietly.

Splitting the rabbit’s meat, half and half, with Charles was easy. Once his side of the rabbit was scraped clean of meat, it was set above the fire to be cooked so Arthur could begin cutting off his own. Charles watched the food with a calm eye the entire time, even when it was Arthur’s food getting cooked.

“So, Charles,” Hosea started. It caught Arthur’s attention. He sounded devious. “You’ve spent a decent amount of time hunting with Arthur. Do you have any stories to tell? I know he mostly cleaned up his act, but he slips sometimes.”

“C’mon, Hosea…” Arthur set his scraps aside and settled on his side. His bedroll was thankfully on the softer side, which was beneficial since they were sleeping on rock tonight. He unhooked his belt and set that aside with his hat and satchel. Settling down completely, he turned his back to the fire.

Hosea was quiet for exactly ten seconds. “The last time we camped this close to water was when Arthur and John were younger. It was mostly so we could wash off and look decent before going to sniff out a town. Arthur headed to the lake with John in tow. Only Arthur came back not that much later, looking like he was trying to hide something. Sure enough, we could hear John hollering. Turned out Arthur decided to throw young John, who can’t swim, into the lake. Dutch pulled Arthur back to the lake by the ear and forced him to swim into the lake and pull John out. Arthur had gotten an actual bath before that so Dutch hoped he learned his lesson…”  

John deserved that. He spent that entire week whining and trying to tag along with Arthur when he headed into town to act civilized, which was what he was told to do. Every time Arthur was back with the three, he yelled at John to shut up and Dutch yelled at him in return to stop being so harsh. Then he’d go to Hosea to complain but Hosea comforted him only to a point and assured him that things would calm down once they were done in the area. He had been right but Arthur could remember going rampant nearly every night with his anger. He refused to write in his journal unless Hosea sat down with him and forced a pencil in his hand.

“I’ll tell ya, Charles. You two should go out hunting together more. You two always bring back the best catches. And who knows, maybe you’ll catch him doing something embarrassing to share with me.” Hosea chuckled to himself. Maybe it was the fire but Arthur’s cheeks gained some temperature.

Arthur raised his head to look at Charles, who hummed at the older man across from him. He could’ve told how Arthur had tried to lasso a buck and hit a tree instead and flew off his horse or when he nearly fell over a cliff because a ram butted him over the edge—which if it hadn’t been for Charles pulling him back up, he’d be dead by now. Instead, he just stared at the fire and nodded. He eventually turned to look at Arthur with his warm brown eyes. Realizing eyes stared back, he quickly averted his gaze and settled on his own bedroll, on the edge of Arthur’s vision.

Arthur settled back down, using one arm as a pillow and using the other to cover his head. He was beginning to drift off when he heard Charles and Hosea exchange a few words. The only clear phrase was a _“Maybe, Hosea”_ from Charles.

~*~

Hosea led them to the north of the lake in the morning when the camp was packed up and bait was made. He brought them to the opposite shore of the side they slept on last night to begin looking for clues. The horses were left there to graze and drink, also so they’re out of harm's way later. Charles and Arthur found the first thing to use to track the bear together and they led Hosea deeper into the woods.

It felt good to hunt by Charles’ side. They managed to keep the trail between them perfectly as they moved deeper and deeper into the bushes. If the paw prints of the bear were anything to go by, it was big. It was unnerving with how big they were. Arthur felt even better having Charles with them for this.

They placed the bait when they reached an area without trees and hid behind a boulder while they waited for the bear to appear. However, Hosea grew antsy and kept wanting to check the bait. So they checked the bait and that’s when the bear made an appearance. It was _big_ and _ugly_. Charles herded Hosea begins him while Arthur stood upfront firing his revolver at the bear. The beast took a few of the bullets before retreating deeper into the trees.

“He good, Charles?” Arthur called as he approached the rock he knew Hosea was hiding behind. Plus, he knew because Charles made an appearance from behind the rock.

“Yes, I’m okay, Arthur.” Hosea was helped to his feet as he whistled for Silver Dollar.

Arthur placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed before Hosea mounted his horse. “Good. Let’s keep you alive.”

“Are you two riding back or staying to finish the hunt?”

“ _I’m_ gonna stay. I ain’t answerin’ for Charles.”

Charles didn’t hesitate. “I’ll stay.”

Hosea nodded. Looking between the two, he smiled. “Well, I wish you luck. Have a safe return to camp.” After that, he rode off in the direction they came from.

Charles let Arthur take the lead as they began to track the bear again. It wasn’t a hard trail to follow since the tracks seemed to lead deeper and deeper between two rocky hills. It felt like a trap but they were more or less walking into the animal’s den. They definitely were. This area was closed in by the hills and ended by the railroad tracks. Not only that but there were multiple corpses of previous meals.

Arthur must have wandered too far in because the bear burst through the trees to his right and knocked him on his back. He had only a moment to stare up into beady eyes, one was a milky white, before the beast tore in. Teeth grazed his stomach but thankfully focused on tearing him open where his belt was. Animals were usually dumb but not completely stupid. The bear proved it wasn’t completely stupid because it adjusted its grip and definitely got Arthur this time. It thrashed its head, jostling Arthur across the dirt and stones.

The bear showed it had some brains once again. It released the belt and moved further up, aiming for Arthur’s head. Arthur took the opportunity to pull out his knife and bury it in the beast’s neck. The bear reared, roaring, right before a gun went off and it’s neck exploded in a flurry of red. All was still until life left the bear completely and it fell to its side. Arthur stayed on the ground, trying to calm his rapid heart.

“Arthur!” Charles called. He was on his knees next to Arthur seconds later. “You’re bleeding.” Surprisingly light fingers danced around the bloody tears in his shirt, carefully spreading the material so the wounds beneath could be looked at better. “They don’t look deep but they will need to be attended.”

“No, I can—” Trying to sit up only caused pain so Arthur returned to his backside, very aware of a hand on his chest ready to push him down if needed. He laid there, squinting against the sun and Charles’ silhouette. “I have stuff in m’ satchel.”

Arthur lifted his satchel and nosed through it roughly. He pushed bandages into Charles’ hand and pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey and a health tonic. The health tonic, he consumed, would dull the pain once it kicks in. The whiskey, Arthur pushed into Charles’ hands. Cautiously, he raised himself on his elbows and backed up to lean against a rock.

“Here,” he murmured. His shirt was ruined now so he unbuttoned it and cut a chunk of it off to hand to Charles. “For the whiskey.”

Worried lines crossed Charles’ face but he said no words. He took a sip from the whiskey before dumping it over the torn fabric. Showing his steely resolve, Charles didn’t hesitate to press the fabric to Arthur’s abdomen to wipe away the blood and clean the wound properly. It was like any other wound; painful but in need of a good cleaning. It’ll be on its way to becoming one of many scars in a few days.

“Gonna attract all the animals in the woods, smellin’ like whiskey,” Arthur joked through gritted teeth. He grinned at Charles when the man looked at him and said with a soft voice,  “There ain’t a need to worry.”

Maybe those brown eyes will be the death of him or hopefully Arthur’s just delusional. Charles looked like a kicked puppy, an expression that John mastered when he was young to use on Dutch, and it made Arthur’s cold, cold heart threaten to melt. And they were just staring at each other. Charles’ hand moved so slowly, Arthur didn’t need to see to know what planes of his stomach Charles’ hand was currently over. He wasn’t dying, it was just pain that caused Arthur’s head to swim. That was truly it. Definitely not his rapidly beating heart nor the rising temperature in his cheeks again.

Something passed between them, like a silent agreement that had them each licking their dry lips. They began moving again; Arthur holding his shirt out of the way while Charles carefully wrapped bandages all the way around his stomach. Once the material was stuck into place, they worked together to skin the bear and put it on the back of Arthur’s horse once the horses were whistled for.

“You can head back to camp without me. Hosea mentioned some trapper I can sell the skin to. I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Arthur said as he slipped on the extra shirt he packed. With little help, he made it into the saddle.

Charles mounted Taima and came up to Arthur’s side. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go with you.”

Arthur cursed the warm feeling that bloomed in his chest. That feeling he’s gotten before but he never wished to feel again. He especially didn’t want to feel it with Charles, who he never wants to chase away with his own foolishness. So Arthur just smiled at Charles and nodded his head and kicked Cheshire into a calm trot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You think Hosea knows? 
> 
> I don't know if you can tell but I sort of rushed the end. I wanted one thing to happen but didn't want to write it and that's the product. Oops. I'll try harder next time.
> 
> Also, that thing about backing the horse up? From what I learned about working with horses, horses don't like backing up. So backing a horse is supposed to remind them who is in charge or something like that. I can't really tell you how or why it works but hey now you know. I also don't know if it works for all horses but the horse I owned and the people I knew who had horses would do that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all have a happy holiday season (and a happy new year. Saying this now just in case I can't get the next chapter out before 2019). 
> 
> I don't really remember writing some of this chapter... so, yeah. Hope you enjoy.

Arthur got a fancy hat made from the bear’s head when he sold the pelt. If he returns with a few other types of pelts, it sounded like the trapper would then be able to make a few other articles of clothing with the remains of the bear pelt. On the way back to Horseshoe Overlook, they had to stop and make camp about halfway. Their camp was out in the open, not hidden under the trees nor brush to hide them. It was a nice change. It allowed them to see the sky with no problems.

Time morning came around, they heated up some of Arthur’s stowed jerky and changed his bandages before heading off again. No matter how much Arthur wanted to hunt, Charles wouldn’t let him. The goal was to head right back to camp so Arthur could rest more.

However, when they got back to camp, Arthur decided to unpack Cheshire then approached Bill and Dutch, who were teasing the O’Driscoll. The kid’s frightened shouts echoed across camp when his balls were threatened. And soon enough, Arthur, Bill, and John were riding out with _Kieran_. So much for hoping Arthur would actually rest. Not like he had a tussle with a bear or anything. Maybe he had a problem with sitting still and that was why he did so much for others and the chores around camp. According to Hosea, Arthur was too senior to do guard duty, if he even has the patience for it.

Bill and John returned not long later. Charles was on watch and he was a bit surprised to see the O’Driscoll was with them. Arthur didn’t look happy when he rode in a few minutes later. Had he decided to ride through the bushes Charles stood in, he might’ve run Charles over if he was as deep in his thoughts as he looked. After grabbing a bowl of stew, he joined Charles in walking the perimeter.

Charles was tucked into his heavy coat, the collar coming up to cover the lobes of his ears. It was cozy and easy to maneuver just by straightening his spine. It was perfect so he could take a drag of a cigarette then return to the warmth of his coat. Calm day it was turning out to be. The cigarette smoke lulled him even more.

“Kid saved my life,” Arthur murmured. They were stopped at a log. Arthur was sitting down, resting his head in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on his knee. “An O’Driscoll burst from the cabin, holdin’ a rifle to my face and the kid came up from behind and shot ‘em.”

“My work to keep you from hurting yourself again would’ve been in vain if it weren’t for him,” Charles teased. “I should thank him.”

Arthur set his hand over the bandages and scratched absentmindedly, trying his best not to look awkward but it was quite obvious to Charles. Hopefully, the bandages were still under there. Charles won’t put it past the man to throw injuries aside and caution to the wind when it came to working. This was the first time the enforcer has ever gotten hurt while Charles was in the gang. If he acted carelessly every time, that wouldn’t be surprising.

“When d’you wanna hunt again?” Arthur asked.

Charles puffed out smoke he was holding in his lungs. He turned to the man, an eyebrow raised. “Was I denying a different Arthur this morning?”

Arthur chuckled at that. “Thought it wouldn’t hurt to try again. Hoped my outin’ earlier would prove that ’m fine.”

He was right. The bear only left him a few ugly cuts that could be opened with strenuous activity, if they weren’t given enough time to at least scab over. A day and a night’s rest was enough time for something to form. And he wasn’t bleeding through his shirt so that was a good sign, too.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Charles decided. It depended on their current stocks. Some others didn’t seem to like hunting so trading duties wouldn’t be a hard task to accomplish. But Arthur’s own schedule would ultimately decide whether they go out to hunt or not. If he’s serious about hunting, he’ll put everything aside, like he’s done before.

For whatever reason, Arthur stuck around. Charles began to move off to keep an eye on the road used most and Arthur picked himself up to follow a few paces behind. When he stopped, Arthur stopped and settled on the ground with his journal in hand. It was… charming. Maybe the man was just lonely and Charles was the only company available. Although loneliness doesn’t make sense when Arthur gets ‘lost’ in the wilderness for days at a time. They each do fine when they’re left to their own resources.

It was nice. The air was crisp from the mountains and leftover winter chill. That and hearing the leaves rustle and Arthur’s pencil against the paper was grounding. Charles never expected to actually find peace with a gang. He never knew what they were like until he came across Dutch. Arthur expressed his thoughts up in the mountains. He said Dutch wasn’t like any other gang leader; he cares for his members and has a way with words like few other leaders do.

Charles frowned and looked over his shoulder at Arthur. He looked somewhat of a picture. His face was slack, except for a little tension between his eyebrows, as he drew. There was a break in the trees above that somehow cast only him in its rays. It caused his umber hair to look lighter, almost with a soft caramel color, and his black duster to look its actual faded coloring. With his back to a rock and the dirt, leaves, and vegetation around him, it reminded Charles of one of those solemn pictures the rich like to hang in their houses because the coloring was nice.

Charles returned his attention back to the road. Horse hooves were approaching, rapidly. He raised his rifle just as a rider appeared on the trail that led deeper into camp. They shouted in a familiar voice. “It’s Lenny! It’s Lenny!”

Arthur shot to his feet and pocketed his journal and pencil in one motion. He took a few steps before oddly hesitating. Of course, Charles watched it happen. Lenny went by them in a flurry and Arthur was going to see what he had to say but was instead checking on Charles. His mouth worked like he was going to say something. Charles nodded to him before turning back around. It took another few seconds before Arthur actually took off again.

Karen relieved Charles mere minutes later. That girl, Charles didn’t understand how she got roped into guard duty. She didn’t hate it but she doesn’t seem to enjoy it when she’s pulled away from doing something else. She also doesn’t go on watch as often as Charles, Bill, John, and Javier so maybe she’s just a substitute.

“... no crazy business.”

“I’ve given that up,” Arthur groaned in reply to Dutch. He sighed and guided Lenny to the horses.

They trotted by Charles when he was coming into camp. Arthur flashed an apologetic frown at him as he went by.

Charles went over for his share of stew when Hosea was by Dutch’s tent. He had a seat pulled up beside Dutch’s normal one under the awning and they sat side-by-side. They discussed something in quick, low tones. There was a warmth about them that Arthur tends to regard Hosea—and sometimes Dutch—with. Familiar, like family. There were similar feelings that others seemed to emit with each other but not as strongly. There seemed to be some tenderness when Arthur and John interact, even if it’s covered by Arthur’s hostility toward John.

Charles took his first spoonful of the soup and felt his nose wrinkle involuntarily at the taste. The critters that Bill and Sadie shot were soggy, the delicate meats clearly not meant to be soaked in a stew. It tasted like spices, both salty and spicy, were haphazardly thrown in. The vegetables, the carrots, in particular, were as crunchy as they are when found out in the wild. Charles has never once complained about the stew but, this time, this was something else.

“Uh, Charles, why don’t you come here a moment?” Hosea called out.

Both men watched and waited patiently for him to finish his meal before he came over. Hosea heeded Charles with a warmth that he hasn’t experienced since he was a young boy and his mother was alive. It was shocking and unexpected, to say the least.

“Go get some rest. I want you to head to Valentine later to keep an eye on Arthur. He may start out easy but…” Dutch chuckled. “Well, we’ve known him long enough to know what might happen.”

“We’re not askin’ ya to participate in drinking. Just try not to let him out of your sights. He’s slippery when he’s drunk and we can’t have him causing trouble,” Hosea explained a bit further. He gave a polite smile. “Now go rest up. We’ll wake you when you should head out.”

Charles nodded to them and retreated to his bedroll. The sun was slowly crawling down the horizon but it won’t affect his sleep. This wasn’t the first time Charles had to sleep the time away so he could perform a task at a certain time. Certain hunts happen at different times and even missions when he was new to the gang happened at particular times. He found some comfort in that. Night tasks usually need stealth, so that’s when he’s sent out. But he also performs well when the task is in daylight, and those are usually bloody.

However, it felt like sleep was going to be elusive. Charles buried himself in his bedroll and felt his body heat begin to warm the fabric. It’d be comfortable any other time of any day, especially with his winter coat on. It was a change to feel so awake when he needs to be falling asleep. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing on purpose, trying to listen to the bugs and birds chirping to lull him to sleep.

Charles must have entered a light doze because a firm, yet gentle, hand shook him awake. The sky was dark with nightfall and the camp was lit with the usual lanterns and fires. He heard all the noise in and outside the camp while he slept, it felt like he didn’t sleep a wink.

“Time to head out, Charles,” Hosea said. He settled on his own bedroll and gave Charles a light push. “Up and at ‘em.”

“Alright,” Charles muttered. He pulled his body from his bedroll, joints cracking as they moved.

“Good luck.”

The ride to Valentine was as it always is; bland and short. Charles encountered no one on the roads. No one was foolish enough to venture out of town alone in the dark. Valentine was pretty quiet, too. The shops were closed but the saloon was active with patrons. Music flowed from the swinging doors and men, drunk and sober, loitered on the porch. Laughter and shouts streamed out with the music. It was a bit hard to imagine that Arthur was in there right now.

Charles hitched Taima next to Cheshire in front of the saloon and ventured inside. He should have prepared himself for something, really. As soon as he stepped inside those doors, he was greeted with the sight of Arthur stumbling in the middle of the floor, hollering Lenny’s name just as the young man came around to grab his elder’s shoulders. Apparently, Arthur didn’t take too kindly to that because he laughed darkly and whipped his arm around to deliver a sharp slap to Lenny’s cheek. Lenny, in his own stupor, stumbled back and returned the slap.

“They… they was dancin’! Got Ralphie to join in,” some drunk exclaimed as he went around Charles. Well, he was talking to Charles at least. “Tha big guy wi’ his little buddy, they got Ralphie from ‘hind the bar to dance wi’ ‘em.” The man then laughed to himself and stumbled to the bar.

Arthur… dancing? Sure, he danced with Mary-Beth the night they celebrated Sean’s return, but she’s part of the gang. It was a funny thought but the man said he danced, so maybe Arthur actually danced. If his slap fest with Lenny was anything to go by, then Charles wouldn’t doubt it.

Charles headed to the bar for one beer before stashing himself in the darkest corner that still had a view of Arthur. He and Lenny stopped slapping each other eventually and went to the bar for another mug of alcohol. They laughed and bumped their shoulders together like the true drunken men they are. Arthur drank about half of his drink in one gulp. Then a man stumbled into Arthur’s side and that set him off. Charles followed the trio from a careful distance.

Arthur put his arm around the man’s shoulders and led him to the back of the saloon like he was an old pal. They were heading to the pig pens. Charles hung back by the saloon while Arthur dunked the man’s head in the water trough over and over. The enforcer ignored the man’s pleas to stop. He laughed some but also growled at the man while he drowned him. Charles frowned but he was only here to keep an eye on Arthur.

When the man lay still in the trough, Lenny and Arthur backed away and communicated in a way only drunks can understand. They laughed and tried to walk on their legs that resembled those of a newborn foal’s. Then Lenny stopped to throw up and Arthur fell over into the mud because he thought it was so funny. Charles couldn’t tell if it was entertaining or disgusting. Although who was he to judge, considering he was technically now an outlaw. It was nice seeing them—or at least Arthur—happy.

They wandered to the front of the saloon after Arthur picked himself up and had Lenny following him again. The words coming from their mouths made not a lick of sense.

“There! Those’re the men!” someone shouted.

Lenny was suddenly tackled from behind by a lawman, which caused Arthur to take off through the alley between the saloon and general store. The officers yelled at him to stop and the final words Charles heard from Arthur were a joyous “You’ll never take me alive!”

Charles shook his head, trying to will the smirk away. He untied Cheshire and Taima, mounting Taima and holding onto Cheshire’s reins. Arthur wasn’t hard to track nor keep up with once Charles found him. He turned north, heading toward the Dakota River. With his built frame, and all the regular conditioning it goes through, he was able to run for quite a ways.

Arthur finally decided to stop—to promptly blackout—after his path slowly rounded west into the trees before the land dropped off to the river. Charles put rope halters on the horses and tied them to a nearby tree. After removing the rest of their tack, Charles settled next to Arthur, using the nearby tree to lean against.

There was no point in returning to camp. It sounded like Dutch and Hosea weren’t expecting Arthur to return tonight and they probably won’t mind if he doesn’t. Charles didn’t mind, neither. A night away from camp and everyone else is nice. Although technically Arthur is his company but he shouldn’t be included since he’s out cold. And Charles wasn’t lazy. He just didn’t think that dragging Arthur back to camp in his drunken state was the best idea. He may even appreciate not getting a rude awakening from the others.

Charles let himself drift off, which was much nicer than trying to force it like earlier. He dreamt of the simple nature. Simple shrubbery, the simple dirt, a simple river to the side, and a simple jackrabbit. It was just a piece of the natural world around them. There were worse dreams to have, more confusing ones, this one was welcomed. There used to be nights where he avoided sleep because the nightmares that plagued him. Even when he first joined the gang, he was somewhat hesitant to sleep at night. It didn’t help when Hosea moved their tent closer to Arthur’s, in that little dirt bowl.

Charles got to dream of that first camp with the gang before waking up. It was located in the plains, up towards Tall Trees, in a little geographical bowl. It was empty in his dreams, minus the gang’s wagons and supplies. There was the familiar little blood spatter that never went away after Arthur and Javier returned from a not-so-good evening. He knew because his eyes always went to it when he had nothing else to look at. A blue jay flew to the center of camp and sat there. Its beautiful blue feathers looked radiant. It suddenly puffed up and squawked.

There was actually a blue jay squawking at them when Charles woke up. He stared up at the bird until it decided to relocate to a different branch. It still shrieked at them but now at a more manageable distance. Arthur was still passed out beside him, snoring softly. He looks peaceful when he’s asleep. Charles resisted the urge to test the softness of the subtle brown curls with his fingers. He took it as a sign to busy his hands so he got up to grab a bow from his saddle and headed to the river. There should be a rabbit or two down there. If not, then maybe some fish he can try to stick.

Charles found a path down to the river and quietly crept along it. There was a faint breeze, not in his favor, but he could work with it. The rabbits he can see are oblivious to him right now. He pulled back an arrow, keeping another ready on his lap. The arrowhead stuck in the first rabbit effortlessly and the second caught the last rabbit trying to flee. Both would give good pelts, too.

Charles got a fire started then skinned the rabbits. He set the meat on the rack above the fire and moved the scraps away from their makeshift camp. He pulled out a little leather canvas and sat that next to the fire to put the meat on. The smaller bits weren’t taking a long time to cook so they’ll be removed soon enough.

The whole process didn’t take long. Charles ate his share of the meat as soon as he had everything split. Now all that was left for Arthur to wake.

To pass the time, Charles headed away from the little camp to search for mint leaves. He unintentionally kept his camp in sight as he searched for the leaves. It calmed his nerves to see the sprawled body and horses. The leaves are hard to find in this area but there are some nearby, on the other side of the river by a pond. It took a careful eye but there was a small cluster in a low spot in the open. He cut the stems off and brought them back to the fire to take the leaves. On his way, he stopped by his saddle to grab his canteen.

Arthur made a small noise and he was groaning when Charles looked at him. His body gave a jolt as he came back to himself. He looked around stiffly as he started sitting up.

“Oh, you moron, Morgan,” he groaned. He lifted a hand to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You moron… not again.”

The man was up on his feet unsteadily and took a few steps toward the slope downwards. Charles was ready to talk or get up to keep him steady but Arthur stooped over and vomited. He heaved until he had nothing left to purge. Once he righted himself, he turned back around and his eyes landed on Charles.

“Charles,” he greeted hoarsely.

“Arthur.” Charles tilted his head briefly. “Come sit.”

Arthur stared at him with a haunted face. He glanced at the ground before trudging up to the tree Charles sat against and slid to the ground gracelessly. He sat close enough that their shoulders were brushing.

“Eat these,” Charles instructed. He put the mint leaves in Arthur’s lap. The man picked the leaves up to sniff curiously. “They’ll settle your stomach. There is some rabbit for you, too, if you’re feeling up to it. Drinking water will also help.” He picked up his canteen and set it between them.

“Thanks, Charles,” Arthur mumbled. He acted hesitant to eat the leaves, his pale and sweaty face supported his sickness, but he munched on one leaf at a time until he decided he could keep them down and finished the small pile.

“I’m guessing you won’t be up to hunting today.”

Arthur threw his head back. He hit it against the tree and released a “fuck” through his teeth. He made some noises as he settled himself again.

“No, guess not.”

Charles watched Arthur with calm eyes. After eating the mint leaves, he gathered his share of rabbit and ate it. He was surprisingly obedient; not only eating his meal but also drinking from the canteen beside him. It reminded Charles that he still didn’t know much about Arthur’s upbringing, besides that he was mostly raised by Dutch and Hosea—that much was very obvious. Charles noticed little quirks of the two men in Arthur. Same as Hosea, Arthur occasionally will grip his jaw so he can rub at the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger usually while he thinks. Arthur seems to have the brashness that Dutch acts upon but he mostly takes after Hosea. His studious stare, gained from Hosea, was rare or just on his face with another emotion. Although Charles had a feeling Arthur’s emotions were usually overlooked.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Charles suggested.

“‘m runnin’ errands,” Arthur grumbled.

Charles looked at Arthur’s lap. The man’s hands were perched on each of his own thighs as he took a break from nibbling his food. There were blood and dirt under his nails, some of it was definitely from the past few days. He reached his hand out and set it on Arthur’s nearest, doing his best to ignore the itchiness from the contact and how Arthur suddenly tensed. He’s just… testing the water.

“Then we’ll hunt soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention last chapter that Cheshire was named after Cheshire Cat because of her odd coat. She is the special edition horse; the reverse dapple thoroughbred. I thought she was really ugly at first but then I got used to her and now I think she is adorable, especially with the moon-shaped marking on her forehead! It may be far-fetched but Alice in the Wonderland came out in 1865 and Arthur was born in 1863. I saw a shot and took it. 
> 
> I spent a lot of time messing around in the mountains while writing this and I never realized how cold it actually got... I feel bad for making Arthur run around with his shirt sleeves rolled up and the trapper cloak on. Definitely not enough clothing when the weather gets down to 2 degrees(F). 
> 
> And I finally found where Charles sleeps, which means he finally slept for me while I was in camp. I put him with Lenny and Hosea on purpose, I know that Bill sleeps there instead in-game.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to finish this chapter in 2018 but I got a new laptop for Christmas so I managed to pump this out. Also, I've been staying up late and that's when my imagination flourishes!
> 
> Just a slight warning for some racist comments. I took some dialogue from a scene that contained it. It's literally one sentence but I feel that I should warn y'all nonetheless.

Charles has learned that there is a wrath that comes with Arthur Morgan. After doing his errands—work for Strauss—he was a tight bundle of nerves that was ready to jump everyone in camp. He followed in people’s shadows, harassing them and ignoring pleas to leave them alone. He threatened to take John down to the river to drown him, barked at poor Kieran about he was going to hogtie him in his sleep then drag him around behind Cheshire, called Pearson a walrus and to ‘return to sea with the other walruses’, mocked Bill about being a drunk until the man stormed out of camp, and said some things to Javier that shouldn’t be repeated. He was finishing insulting Susan and heading toward Abigail when Dutch pulled Charles to his tent. Hosea was there, arms crossed and a frown on his face.

“Get him out of camp, Charles, please,” Dutch groaned. He rubbed his temples like he was fighting a headache. “I don’t know why the hell he's acting like this so just _please_ work whatever of your magic on him.”

Hosea snorted. Amusement played in his eyes but couldn’t overtake the present sourness. “You don’t even have to return tomorrow. Just stay out of trouble. If you have to, just knock him out and dump him somewhere.”

Charles nodded and exited the tent. He called for Arthur, and apparently just in time because it looked like he was heading over to Jack next. But Arthur came to Charles like he’s trained to do. Charles felt a bit bad that he referred to Arthur in such ways but now that he realized how much Hosea and Dutch whipped him into shape, it was hard not to compare his obedience to that of a loyal dog’s.

“Let’s go hunting. I saw a herd of bison over the hills.” Arthur gave him a stare that said he knew it wasn’t just about the bison. “And your _fathers_ wanted me to get you out of camp.”

Some of Arthur’s anger faded. He was regarding Charles with that usual pleasance reserved only for him. Charles wondered if Arthur knew he wore emotions so strongly on his face. He must have noticed something because at Charles’ faint grin, his eyebrows rose and his face fought to stay neutral.

“Well, my _fathers_ are nosey ol’ bastards.”

“It’s not that you’re pestering the entire camp?”

Like up in the mountains, Arthur could tell it was pointless to continue an argument he would lose. He ducked his head and sighed. “Fine.”

“Get your things and meet me by the horses,” Charles instructed and headed off.

He saddled Taima up and hitched her beside Cheshire so he could grab the rest of his equipment. His bow and rifle were already on his saddle, he just needed to grab his bedroll and tent. There weren’t many hours of daylight left so that meant they were most likely going to make camp somewhere. He’ll have to make sure Arthur grabs resources for a campfire and cooking.

They headed out as soon as Arthur climbed onto Cheshire. Charles led the way. He decided to tell of how his people moved with the bison. It was, more or less, to fill the silence that horse hooves didn’t cover but also Charles thought it fair if he shared something about his past after learning more and more of Arthur’s. There wasn’t much to tell, in all truthfulness. So he made sure to notify Arthur to take everything he can. Charles will also keep the bison rounded up until they bring one down.

Taima rode well near the bison. She exhibited perfectly of what’s expected from her; she didn’t startle at the larger beasts and managed to ignore the gunshots coming from Arthur. And then she came to a quick stop to let the rest of the herd free.

“Make sure to take everything,” Charles reminded Arthur on approach.

Arthur grunted in recognition as he cut into the carcass skillfully. He cut the fur in a perfect pattern so more could be done with it and handed the horns to Charles before he cut the entirety of the pelt. The meat would be next, cut off into slabs and wrapped in leather pieces to protect their bags from the blood. They’ll eat some of the meat if they camp out tonight then bring back the rest whenever they return.

While he did that, Charles’ attention was caught by circling birds in the distance. Scavenger birds, to be exact. They were close, too close for comfort. Bison are usually smart enough to stay away from carcasses of other animals. Unless they had a connection with the animal before it died. Charles could remember, when he was younger, watching a mother bison mourn her calf after a pack of wolves took it down. Charles wanted to put her out of her misery, after all, they were there specifically to hunt, but the experienced hunters said that she was young, had plenty of years left, so they hunted an older bison that day.

Arthur had the meat cut into sizable steaks. He wrapped them up as tightly as he could and packed his saddlebags and satchel as tightly as possible. Charles accepted what meat could fit into his saddlebags but some of it had to be left behind, unfortunately.

“If you don’t mind, I want to check something out before we head anywhere else,” Charles said as Arthur climbed into his saddle.

Arthur groaned as he settled and snagged the reins from around the horn. “Sure. I take it my _fathers_ wanted to keep me out of camp for the rest of the day, anyway.”

Charles couldn’t completely hide his grimace. Arthur was right about that, there was no point in trying to say something else or lie to him because one; he’s not as stupid as he likes others to think and two; he’s probably been in this situation plenty before. So he gave Arthur a bare smile before kicking Taima into a trot toward what the birds were circling overhead.

Charles’ gut clenched when he saw what the scavenger birds were after. There were multiple bison carcasses, unskinned and only left to rot. Each carcass carried at least one bullet hole.

“No…” he breathed. “Shot and left for dead, it looks like.”

“Why would someone do that?” Arthur questioned. He sounded sincere but there was an edge to his voice that made Charles want to snap at him. It made Charles recollect himself so he didn’t accidentally bite at Arthur over nothing.

“I don’t know but I see tracks heading in this direction. I say we follow them.”

Arthur looked at him and nodded. “Alright. Lead the way.”

So Charles did. His senses on high alert, he led them east with the tracks. Another bison pointed them to a camp, embers still warm. On higher grounds, they spotted smoke from the north and headed in that direction. On the way was more dead bison, fresher with each kill. Charles felt himself growing angrier, angry enough that he kicked Taima into high gear. Arthur easily matched his speed while riding Cheshire and thankfully kept his mouth shut, especially after making a comment about killing for fun.

There were two men at the camp when they arrived. They lazed about the fire with a carelessness that managed to add to Charles’ anger. He dismounted Taima before fully making himself know, and the men didn’t seem pleased to have visitors.

Charles cooled his voice and schooled his expression. “Did you fools shoot those bison?”

“What’s your problem?” one man asked.

“I _said_ , did you fools shoot those bison?” Charles repeated. Anger was spreading from his gut at the men’s idiocy. Of course they know what he’s talking about and it made him _sick_. His arms felt like they were going numb with the anger, too, and no doubt his heart was also beginning to quicken from it.

“Calm down, you black or red bastard, whatever the fuck you are,” the second man growled.

“Did you shoot them?” Charles had to yell this time. While most of his attention was on the poachers in front of him, he caught Arthur glancing at him from the side of his eye. He couldn’t tell what the enforcer was thinking. He may have looked a bit pleased.

“Yeah, we did. We shot them bison and we’ll shoot you too, if you don’t get.” The second man.

“What business is it of yours what we—” Charles pulled out his sawed-off just as the man began to retort. He aimed it at the man and effortlessly pulled the trigger. He felt some satisfaction, seeing the man’s chest explode in red and his partner flinch hard. The second man cowered low to the ground.

“It’s that business of mine!”

And then the second man started pleading. He has a family, don’t kill him. Charles sneered at him as Arthur stepped up to the man and started beating him for answers. Arthur started by simply asking what they wanted to know but the man retorted. So Arthur beat the man like he did Tommy. He spared no softness and used all sides of his fist. Charles had to admit that he wished that it was he beating the daylights out of the man, so he could get the pleasure of torturing the man in favor of what he and his partner did to the bison, but Arthur provided a show.

“T-To make it look like it was Indians,” the man said through a mouthful of blood. He flinched at Arthur’s slightest movement, raising his hands fruitlessly to protect his face.

“Just kill him, Arthur,” Charles growled.

Arthur showed no hesitation. He grunted, gave a curt nod of his head, and resumed beating the man to death. Maybe he always wore fingerless gloves so he could protect his knuckles some but retain the ability to use his fingers.

“Sit down, Charles. I’ll loot the camp, see if there’s anything worthwhile before we head back out,” Arthur murmured.

Charles felt exhaustion take his anger’s place once he took a look around the camp. He listened to Arthur, deciding to take a seat on a crate by the fire. It was justifiable to him, but maybe not others, especially like Arthur.

“I’m sorry if killing that man went against your… code,” Charles said lowly. He knew that Arthur has some sort of code. Men like him—them in the Van der Linde gang—usually do. Besides, he heard murmurings from Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea to know that it was a teaching probably from the olden days.

Arthur straightened from where he was digging through a basket. He shrugged. “He was no innocent. Bison don’t have as big of a meanin’ to me but they’re important to you. So he deserved it. I’ll kill for you any day, Charles.”

They were blunt words but they had meaning, especially coming from Arthur.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

They finished up not long after. There wasn’t much to go through and what they did have was food, ammunition, and alcohol. Arthur got a few dollars off each man, giving most of it to Charles in an attempt to cheer him up. It was cute but Charles didn’t need the money. However, he accepted it anyway.

They mounted the horses again and decided to ride northeast for a bit. They were still in the open but decided to set up camp. There were some trees to their backs if they needed cover for whatever reason.

They cut a steak in half, cooking only one half and split that between them. The steaks were good size enough, there was no way they would be able to finish a whole steak between them. It tasted good, too, despite the sour taste in Charles’ mouth when he thought about the other bison that would have to rot after their unnecessary killings.

Arthur and Charles sat with the fire between them. Charles cooked the steak while Arthur wrote, or drew, in his journal. After they ate, they put their bedrolls beside each other and fell asleep under the clear skies. Charles was the last one to fall asleep. He looked over at Arthur’s lax face before he looked up at the stars. The fire was dying, letting the chilly air slowly touch the men except for their sides, which were pressed together. Charles remained on his back until his eyes finally slid shut.

 

~*~

 

The ladies, especially Mary-Beth, wanted to talk about a lady named Mary Linton when Arthur headed out of camp that day with a piece of paper clenched tightly in one hand. He flashed a sad excuse of an apologetic smile Charles’ way before mounting Cheshire and riding away. Miss Grimshaw hushed Mary-Beth and growled at the ladies to not gossip but there really was no not gossiping in camp with these people.

Turns out, Mary Linton was the first woman Arthur ever fancied. And she apparently left her mark on him. She was one of the women in a picture frame beside Arthur’s cot, the other being Mrs Morgan. It was her picture frame that was sometimes tipped over, face down to hide her from either Arthur himself or others. Charles didn’t know how to feel; if he was allowed to really _feel_ about it. He has nothing to do with Mary and what Arthur does with or for her isn’t his business.

But it was hard to keep his mind off it when Charles rested by the scout fire and all Mary-Beth talked about was Mary’s reappearance. She talked about how she broke poor young Arthur’s heart, that she probably never cared about him in the first place. According to Mary-Beth, Arthur was quite the looker when he was younger. _Is he not anymore?_ Apparently, he’s never lost his fair skin but constant sunburns finally left their mark on him after years and years. His sandy hair was much more kept, usually swept back and kept there with pomade. He also had fewer scars. The only things that didn’t seem to change were his bright eyes and shaved face.

Karen finally spoke up. “Ooh, does someone have a crush?”

There was a little sound from Mary-Beth. When she spoke up, there was no embarrassment in her voice like Charles thought there would be. “Give it a rest. Do you not remember how miserable he was after she ended it? Not to mention that we faced the backlash from his moods.”

“Well if he didn’t learn his lesson the first time, then maybe he’s stupider than we thought.”

Arthur’s been gone for a few good hours now. Charles took care of some chores around the camp before he settled by the fire. Taima was with him instead of being by the other horses. She sniffed around curiously before laying down a few paces away from him. She seemed to enjoy the different scenery and company of her rider. Her calmness may also be from the frequent treats she received that Charles cooked, which were supposed to be for when they were out.

“Hey there, Charles. Whatcha doing?” Mary-Beth greeted.

Charles raised his head from sharpening his hatchet. “Sharpening my hatchet.” He just got done taking apart and cleaning his sawed-off.

She smiled at him politely. She has a gentle way of looking. It’s like she doesn’t belong with them. Her and Tilly seem soft for this life, but Hosea said that’s part of their charms. Mary-Beth has a way with pickpocketing and Tilly just has a side to her that many do not know about.

“That’s nice. Good to know that some of you care enough about your equipment to make sure it’s in working order,” she said. There was a steaming cup of coffee in her hand and a book tucked underneath her crossed arms. “How have you and Arthur been getting on?”

That was a question Charles wasn’t expecting. He and Arthur spend a decent amount of time with each other but that’s because they enjoy each other’s company. Arthur actually seems to enjoy hunting, despite him saying in the mountains that he doesn’t hunt. It wasn’t any of Mary-Beth’s business but Charles would never say that aloud. Besides, the women do a lot to make sure things in camp run smoothly. Answering a simple question was no problem.

“Good.”

Mary-Beth gave him a disbelieving look. “Just good? I know you’re not a man of many words, Charles, but I thought I’d get something more out of you.”

“Something more poetic? I’m afraid I don’t have enough words for that,” Charles huffed.

“Doesn’t have to contain a lot of words. It’s just that good is so… basic. Great would even be better. Spectacularly…”

“Basic words are enough for me.”

Mary-Beth sighed. “If you say so.”

Yet the woman lingered, even when Charles made it decently clear that he wasn’t good for conversation. He avoided looking at her. Maybe if he didn’t give her attention, she would leave and go do something else. Wouldn’t she be more interested in reading her book than talking to a wall like Charles?

“I think he likes you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Charles looked up at Mary-Beth. She had a smile on her face that was faint but it was there and it screamed she knew what she was talking about. Of course she did. Mary-Beth is mostly an angel but she has that darker side for something, which she uses for picking pockets and digging into relationships.

“Well I do try to treat him like a person,” Charles mumbled.

Mary-Beth squinted. She hummed suspiciously before saying goodbye.

Charles remained rattled for a while after she left. The sun eventually set. Sometime Charles dozed, maybe once or twice, because it was definitely night when Arthur returned and Charles remembered seeing the setting sun. Arthur sought Charles out by the fire. He plopped down beside him, letting out a weary sigh, and leaned against the other man. His warmth was comforting and it soothed the apprehension that had slowly collected in Charles’ gut during the hours Arthur was away. It was a silly—

“She’s not you…” Arthur breathed. There was alcohol on his breath but Charles has learned Arthur is honest through and through. It made Charles wonder what happened that had Arthur getting himself drunk before his return but it also froze Charles in place. He became much more aware of the man against him, painfully so that he feared any movement would stir him and he feared to breathe. What he said…

“Arthur, you should go to bed.” Charles did his best to keep his voice even, though a drunk Arthur wouldn’t notice.

Arthur hummed and let his head hang. “Should do lotta things. Not like I ever do ‘em.”

“Arthur—”

“Shh…”

Warms hands carefully removed one of Charles’ hands from his lap, where his Lancaster repeater sat ignored. Calluses, familiar by only one experience but otherwise with his own hands’ journeys, were rough against his own as Arthur slid his hand into Charles’. Their fingers intertwined perfectly and got concealed between them. It was warm and both their hands were equally rough from their lives; work with weapons and other materials left their marks on their hands like the scars that litter both their bodies. It felt like something missing filled Charles’ chest when he shifted slightly to look at their hands.

Charles turned to look at Arthur. The drunk man stared down at their hands before looking up with watery eyes that sent warmth and a chill down Charles’ spine.

“Arthur.”

The man sighed and slumped when Charles said his voice more forcefully. He lowered his head and cursed under his breath. Then he grumbled with some clarity, “I drink for courage an’ you won’t let me.”

“Arthur, look at me,” Charles said softly. When the man next to him raised his head, Charles used his free hand to hook Arthur under the chin to keep the man’s attention on him. “I’d love to hear what you have to say but you are drunk. I don’t know if what you’re saying is what you truly want.”

Arthur’s pink tongue darted out to lick his lips. The motion itself was quick but long enough for Charles to watch and for his mouth go dry. He was clearly drunk but Charles wanted to see what he was going to do. Throw caution to the wind, see what Arthur has to say or do. Let him possibly embarrass himself in front of Charles and any passerby. Charles himself wasn’t drunk but he was thirsty for… Arthur, he supposed. The man was intoxicating in his own way. His saunter, his gruff little smiles, and the way he makes room in his schedule to spend time with Charles—disguised as hunting trips—were all things that made him.

So Charles, with caution, let Arthur do what he wanted to do. He kept his body poised for anything.

“I think I’d like ta kiss you, Mr Smith.”

Charles stared momentarily, dumbfounded. He liked Arthur but he didn’t think the feelings were as strongly mirrored. _Arthur is drunk, you can’t take advantage of him_. Charles shook himself out of his haze of want and put his free hand on Arthur’s shoulder, exerting little force to keep him there. The man frowned and confusion flashed across his face.

Charles pulled the man to his feet hastily and guided the man to his tent, both hands on his shoulders but holding him to his side.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I think we should talk about this when you’re sober,” Charles murmured. About half of the camp was asleep. The rest of everyone was at least in their own tents or around the main fire talking in low tones. That meant no one would really pay attention to Charles returning Arthur to his rightful place for the night.

Arthur groaned as he was mostly dragged along. Yeah, he probably wasn’t feeling too great after his drunken plans have failed. He’s just lucky that everyone is too preoccupied to see him in a dismantled state.

“Damn you, Charles,” he muttered. “I drank for a reason an’ you decide ta foil my plans.”

“If they’re good enough plans then we can discuss this again later with no problems.”

Another groan.

Arthur was easy to get on his cot. All Charles had to do was lift him a bit and get the cot under the back of his legs before lowering him back down. Thankfully, he wasn’t fighting back so the whole process of putting him to bed was quite easy.

“C’mon, Charles…”

Charles sighed. After throwing some blankets on Arthur, he stood by the head of the cot and grabbed one of Arthur’s hands in both of his. He had to admit, he liked the feeling of holding hands. They were both warm and it has been a while since Charles has had any enjoyable physical contact like this.

“When you’re sober, we can talk about this,” Charles promised.

Arthur huffed and leaned forward to plant a smooch on Charles’ knuckle. Once Charles released his hand, he snuggled under the blankets and sighed. “Fine.”

Charles smiled faintly and turned to put out the lantern hanging at the entrance of the tent. He headed back over to the scout campfire to clean up his equipment and supplies. Taima woke so he walked her back to graze with the other horses. Cheshire was there and greeted the Appaloosa with a huff and shake of the head.

Hosea greeted Charles from his bedroll with a half-hearted grunt. Lenny must by the main fire or on watch. Charles bid Hosea goodnight before settling in his bedroll. He could still feel Arthur’s hand and fingers on his own like they were still touching. And his lips on Charles’ knuckles; wet from his tongue but soft for the most part. It put a small smile on Charles’ face, knowing that there might be something for him in the future to actually look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to make them kiss in this chapter but it's supposed to be slow burn so I didn't push it... UGH


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw wink wink  
> I think y'all will enjoy this one. 
> 
> Huge thanks for all the comments! I never realized how impactful comments actually are so those who left a comment, whether on the previous chapter or any of the others, thank you! I have read them even if I did not reply! ♥

“Give me the wagon and you can be on your way.”

“Just—! Please don’t shoot!”

Arthur growled to himself. He kept his revolver aimed at the oil wagon driver, even as the man climbed from the seat like he was ordered to.

“Now get.” And the man was off. Arthur hopped from Cheshire directly onto the wagon. He whipped the horses into a canter and whistled for Cheshire to follow after pulling his bandana down from his face.  

He just broke Micah out of jail yesterday. He had to spend the night away from camp because things were so hot in Strawberry and he didn’t want to lead anyone back to the rest of the gang. All thanks to Micah, he helped murder half a town and get a local bounty on his head that he will now have to pay off with his own money. _Thanks, Micah._ After a brief stop at camp for a bowl of soup and a talk with John, Arthur was now spending another night away from camp, by the looks. It wasn’t that he entirely minded, no. He just didn’t have a change of clothes with him and it poured earlier so he’s been wearing wet, to slowly damp, clothes all day, making him even more irritated.

Although, a day before breaking Micah out found Arthur away from camp, suffering from a hangover and blurry memories that made him nauseous. Oh, he remembered his stupidity, somehow that’s the only thing he ever remembers when he gets drunk. Or he was just being stupid all that night. Yeah, that explains it. After he dropped Jamie off at the train station, and Mary said that _Arthur_ would never change, he led Cheshire to the smaller saloon and decided to get _slightly_ drunk there. He got kicked out not long after, because what happened to him and Tommy at the other saloon, so he struggled into his saddle and rode back to camp. When he saw Charles there, he decided to down another beer for luck and went in. And got rejected.

 _When you’re sober._ Sober, Arthur’s ass. He should’ve learned with Mary that he’s not a bold man, why the hell would him trying to be bold with Charles turn out any better? Being sober meant he had to be all there, _he_ had to do the talking, not the alcohol making his tongue loose.

John said to park the wagon by the torn down building hidden in the trees near the stables next to Dewberry Creek. The instructions were clear but Arthur didn’t understand how it was a good hiding spot; until he saw it. What was left of the building sat on land just after a slope downward. There was enough brush by the road to hide a full-sized building. So Arthur pulled the wagon up beside the building and cut the horses loose before doing anything else.

Half the day was still left and Arthur wasn’t planning to return to camp until later. Possibly late enough that most people were asleep so he could just sneak in. He couldn’t stay out many days or Dutch might get worried and send someone out to retrieve him. Few people were good trackers in the gang. Javier was one to be sent out after him but the first choice would be Charles, and Arthur felt the need to try to keep his distance for as long as possible. Pathetic, really.

So he sat down for a smoke, feeding some treats to Cheshire while he was at it. For a short rest so he can think. Cheshire nosed at his palm when there was nothing in it and stomped her hoof angrily.

“You’re gonna run me dry, girly,” he said to her. Then she decided to start nosing through his hair like there was something hidden there. She stomped again when she decided that it wasn’t as tasteful as hay. “I gotta save some for later, sorry, girl.”

Boadicea and Cheshire share quite a few similarities but Arthur still found himself missing his first, ashy horse. Boadicea had a temper to her that could start a fire. It matched Arthur’s own perfectly so they fed off each other’s anger. Her coat looked like black, grey, and white paint was splattered all over her, sort of like Taima but more unruly. She was a sight in the night, Arthur learned that after getting rushed by her once. Her eyes were a startling blue that showed her anger and made you want to stop looking at her or else it would send a chill down your back. Her spirit was strong as a human’s and she threw it around. Sometimes others wore bruises from her because they got too close to her.

Cheshire, however, lacked so much of Boadicea’s fire. She’s beginning to show favoritism toward a few of the other gang members but she thankfully recognizes Arthur as her rider. Her brown eyes are too warm for Arthur’s liking and she has a wary look in them sometimes. When they go out on rides, she prances like she wants to run like what she was bred to do. At least when she’s stationary there’s no worrying she’ll topple you over just because she wants to.

The mare snorted suddenly and gave Arthur a shove that would’ve unseated anyone not well-versed with horses. She threw her head right after and took a few strides away to munch on the grass. If it kept her busy, then great. Arthur wasn’t too much in the mood for getting hassled by anyone at the moment, much less his horse. He leaned against the house and tipped his hat to cover his face. A nap sounded nice. A nap now, maybe hunting or something troublesome in the night, return to camp possibly in the night or the morning.

Nearby horse hooves woke Arthur up. He raised his hat and squinted against the evening light. White mane. Old Boy? His eyes adjusted and it was definitely Old Boy with John getting down from the saddle.

“Arthur. Good, you got the wagon. Weren’t sure if you did or not when you didn’t come back to check with me,” John rambled.

“Yeah, decided to take more time away from everyone while I still got the chance,” Arthur murmured. “Why’d you come all the way out here and not just wait ‘til mornin’ when I said I’d return?”

John swatted at the air as he approached the wagon to look at it himself. “Ah, Hosea. He was goin’ on about you not bein’ in camp, gettin’ in trouble. _Arthur, oh, Arthur, where is he? He needs to be here!_ ” The younger man made a noise that was a cross between a snort and a scoff. “Makin’ a fool of yourself again?”

“‘s none of your business,” Arthur grumbled.

“Hell, I weren’t expectin’ to be right,” John laughed. “So what is it? Get in trouble with Miss Grimshaw? Put somethin’ rotten between Pearson’s sheets?”

“Drop it, Marston.”

John jerked his head away as if Arthur’s cold words actually hit him. It was always a good sign that Arthur’s words stuck. “Fine. Well, you’re missed, needed, or whatever, at camp.”

Arthur got to his feet and walked over to Cheshire to get her ready. He began checking the straps on the saddle and pulled out the brush to dust her legs off. “Sure. You know who else’s comin’ with us on this?”

John was looking under the wagon. He straightened and hummed. “Was thinkin’ Charles. He’s got a cool head.” He must have noticed the way Arthur’s shoulders suddenly tensed because he chuckled. “Your camp drama is with Charles? The least talkative person in camp is the one you’re having drama with? Jesus, Morgan.”

“I _said drop it_ , Marson. I ain’t havin’ this conversation with _you_ of all people,” Arthur spat. He put the brush in his satchel and pulled himself up into the saddle. There was a brief moment when he thought he was going to land on the ground because his hand started to slip. But he sat in the saddle now, glaring at John. “It’s tomorrow, night?”

“Yeah. Remind Charles for me, would ya?”

“Figure out your own family problems before you dive into mine.”

Arthur turned his horse around and kicked her right into a gallop. He’s not taking any of John’s shit. It’s bad enough that Hosea seems to have planted himself right on the edge of Arthur and Charles’ companionship, Arthur doesn’t need John bringing attention to it, too.

The ride back to camp went by too quickly. Arthur found himself slowing down purposefully, despite Cheshire’s prancing, until he was at such a slow pace that his horse finally accepted the speed and hung her head sadly. Javier was on watch and greeted him happily, oblivious to the rain clouds hanging over the man’s head in the dusk light.

“Hey, Hosea!” Sean’s voice sing-songed. It sounded like he was all the way across camp. “King Arthur has returned!” And he was drunk. So much for grabbing a quick bowl of stew and retreating to his tent.

Arthur untacked Cheshire and put a rope halter on her before letting her graze with the others. He didn’t get the chance to even start for the stew before Hosea was at his side, slinging an arm over his shoulders. He loved Hosea, truly, but right now…

“Arthur! Where have you been?”

Hosea was nice enough to remove himself while Arthur spooned himself a bowl of stew but he didn’t go far as the younger man ate.

“Let’s see… was nursin’ a hangover, let Micah out of jail, and I fetched an oil wagon for John,” Arthur answered. “If I’d known you’d miss me this much, I would’ve stopped by to say hello between chores.”

“Don’t be dull, Arthur,” Hosea scolded.

It took a lot of effort to not spit the broth out at Hosea in retaliation—and it would be easy enough because the stew wasn’t very tasty this evening. Hosea has always been the one to read him the best. Sure, Dutch could read him pretty well, but not on the lines of which Hosea can. There was no point in lying to him, a _conman_ , especially when he taught Arthur how to lie. Although Arthur wasn’t lying now, he knew plenty to know that chores weren’t the only thing that kept Arthur away.

“I think I would have appreciated that.” Yep, Hosea has definitely become a thorn in Arthur’s situation with Charles and there was no shaking him now.

“Sorry, old man, guess I had bigger problems on my plate.”

“Clearly. I had a talk with Charles…”

Arthur threw his empty bowl toward the provision wagon and grabbed Hosea by the arm to drag him behind his own tent, to the broken wagon by the cliff. Over here, they hopefully will be overlooked in the dark. His heart picked up speed and the palms of his hands were sweating uncomfortably in his leather gloves. Hosea _had_ to announce it at nearly the volume he always speaks at. Any passing gang member could’ve heard!

“Hosea!”

“Arthur!” Hosea retorted. He laughed at Arthur’s mixed expression of panic and anger. “Why are you acting shocked? Disappear for a few days, you might make a man nervous. Communication is key, you know.”

“So you’ve said…” Arthur murmured.

The conman put a hand on Arthur’s neck and squeezed comfortingly, just like he and Dutch would all those years ago when Arthur was shorter than them—although thinking of it, they still did it even when he was up to his full height. It was always a technique to either comfort or ground him. Arthur never knew how but the action somehow drained enough of his anger for Hosea to sit him down and force him to write in his journal. Dutch has grabbed the back of his neck before, once when he was going to pounce on someone. It was impressive because his grip put bruises on Arthur’s neck that were colorful shades of blue and purple and were there for more than two weeks.

“I may not be young anymore, son, but I’m not stupid. And you’re not as elusive as you think. You two… there is something there. He’s no Mary, and that’s the thing; he’s not like Mary!” Hosea shook Arthur, paying no mind to the man’s hot, red cheeks. “It’s frowned upon by the normal masses but you do whatever you like in the gang.”

“Like what you an’ Dutch have put together?” Arthur raised his hanging head so he could look at Hosea. The man looked to be in shallow thought. There was a distant smile on his face.

“Yes. But Charles is also good for you. So I don’t know why you’re rejecting him!”

Arthur sputtered for a moment. “Rejecting him? _He_ rejected _me_!”

“He was stopping you from doing anything foolish, boy. You become an unpredictable lunatic when you’re drunk.” Hosea’s words were harsh enough to cause the younger man to flinch. “Make up with him.”

“Hosea…”

“Don’t _Hosea_ me. Figure out how you feel before I make you sit down and talk it out with him. And I’ll stand there to make sure that happens. You’ll communicate on paper, if you have to.”

“Fine.”

Hosea actually left Arthur alone after that. It would’ve been completely nice if Hosea hadn’t ruffled him before departing. Threatening to invade Arthur’s personal matters like he’s a mother hen. A bit rude but also very annoying. Arthur can figure out his own problems, he doesn’t need Hosea trying to intervene in a possible _relationship_. What could he possibly have said to Charles while Arthur was—yes, he’ll admit—running away from his problems?

Arthur decided to seek Charles out. It felt like a stupid thing to do, he should give himself more time to let his stupidity roll over, but he also needed to remind Charles the time of when they’re getting the train.

Charles was sitting on the rock at the east end of camp, overlooking the Dakota River. He had the firewood ax and a sharpening stone in hand but it didn’t look like he was doing much with it. His gaze seemed to be on the scenery in front of him. Probably in thought, that seemed like him. If Charles wasn’t working, then thinking seemed to be another practice of his.

“Mr Smith,” Arthur said to announce his arrival. When the man turned to look at him with calm eyes, he stuck his arms out in a showy manner. Charles raised a brow as his eyes roved over Arthur’s form. That didn’t help Arthur’s quick pulse. If anything, it just sped up.

“Mr Morgan,” Charles greeted. The barest of a smile rested in the corners of his mouth.

“Uh… John wanted me to remind you that we’re gettin’ the train tomorrow night.” He scratched the back of his head nervously and shuffled on his feet. It’s awkward, is what it is; trying to find more words. Charles kept his steady brown eyes on him as he waited. Thinking about the awkwardness made it worse but just leaving meant nothing was solved. And if things went unsolved then Hosea was going to intervene. Arthur groaned. “Charles, I’m sorry ‘bout the other night. I was drunk an’ kinda sprang on you…”

“It’s fine. You weren’t that bad, honestly.” Damn Charles and his warm understanding, something that Arthur noticed that seems to be reserved for him. He’s heard Charles talk to others with cold, clipped words. Uncle, on more than one occasion, has tried to get a conversation going with him with no avail. “I wouldn’t mind talking about it but I won’t pressure you.”

There was enough empty space beside Charles. _Ah, hell._ Arthur scuffled forward and plopped down next to him so he couldn’t overthink the simple action and offer. The body next to him was warm and reminded him of his own warm cheeks. Thanks to the darkness of night, they hopefully won’t be easy to spot. It was like that night a few days ago when he pressed himself to Charles’ side, blissed out in his body’s own heat, Charles’ heat, and the fire’s. He could’ve fallen asleep like that and had no dreams. Slept like a baby, he could’ve.

“We both know what I said,” Arthur mumbled. He pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Charles, who took it, and lit them. Anything to keep his hands busy or calm his nerves. Whiskey would do right about now but alcohol’s the reason why they’re having this conversation again. He messed with the pack of cigarettes, half tempted to carefully tear it apart but there were still some cigarettes remaining. No point in ruining it when it wasn’t yet empty.

“And you meant it.” It wasn’t a question.

Arthur got another cigarette ready as he pocketed the box. Oh so very cautiously, he tapped Charles’ arm, slowly reaching for his nearest hand. It was either keep fidgeting or try to hold hands. And Charles, bless his soul, offered his hand first so Arthur snatched it. It felt easier to breathe but Arthur’s background nerves were ever present.

“I did,” he whispered, “still do.”

All of nature was as silent as the desert. It seemed the birds and the bugs were holding their breaths. Not even the horses could be heard, and at least one is making a noise that could be heard across camp at all times of the day. Was _no one_ else awake in camp for once? Why wasn’t anyone singing or telling a story by the fire? Arthur’s hand tightened on Charles’ unintentionally. His words were loud enough for the other man to hear, there was _no_ doubting that. Why wasn’t _he_ making any noise?

“You know…”

Arthur startled when fingers brushed his chin. A bout of nervous shivers racked his body as his head was carefully directed to look at Charles. He stared into those soft brown eyes, so shiny in the moonlight. The eyes of a man that Arthur would put his life in the hands of any day. And he couldn’t believe this was going to transpire.

Cigarettes forgotten—Arthur dropped his, he didn’t know about Charles’—they were gravitating toward each other. Charles cupped Arthur’s cheek with a rough, warm hand. The warmth—no, _everything_ —was overwhelming. Arthur’s eyes slid closed and he took a deep breath in and out…

“Arthur, look at me,” Charles murmured. His voice was deep and husky, it sent a chill down Arthur’s spine. The enforcer opened his eyes once more to look at the picture before him. They couldn’t have been more than five inches apart. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

“Like hell I will,” Arthur huffed.

Magic happened when the distance closed between them. Charles’ lips were so smooth, something Arthur wouldn’t have expected. Charles knew what he was doing with his hands, cupping both of Arthur’s cheeks, but Arthur was left floundering. He found himself tangling one hand in Charles’ smooth hair and resting the other on Charles’ hip.

Charles kissed with a passion that Arthur never knew he was missing in his own life. He was gentle but pressing forward in a way that had Arthur melting against him. He was massaging Arthur’s cheeks with his thumbs gently. Smart man he was, he got Arthur’s lips loosened enough to slip his tongue in. It caused the heat already stirring everywhere in him to kick up a notch and release a moan.

He tasted of the cigarette smoke. Something else, too, but Arthur wasn’t a genius. His own senses were dulled by the same cigarette smoke. There was a chance they were both tasting about the same right now; cigarette smoke and some of Pearson’s stew.

Arthur tried pressing back into the kiss. He got a spurt of confidence and turned the kiss to a bruising pace. Charles went with him easily, letting Arthur’s position in the situation become known. He slid his hands from Arthur’s cheeks to his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. It’s been a while since anyone has touched his head or hair. It felt like bliss.

He’s been waiting for this; to set his lips somewhere on Charles, to be able to touch him softly like he’s done with women of his past. Except Charles didn’t compare to them. He’s above and beyond. His secret softness bled into his kisses, along with parts of his rougher side. But he was in control of that, pushing more of his rougher side now that Arthur is properly responding but not failing to leave out the softness so Arthur knows that he’s aware. And then when Charles moaned. It was a deep sound that had Arthur squirming.

Arthur pulled away, sucking in deep breaths. His lips were wet and cheeks aflame and hair feeling a bit tossed; Charles looked a bit ruffled, himself. His lips shined in the moonlight and there were strands of hair out of place from where Arthur had a hand. It was a good look on him, his actions definitely unmistakable, but a good look.

“Fuck…” Arthur breathed. He moved both hands to Charles’ sturdy chest. His pounding heartbeat was faint through his clothes but Arthur had a feeling it matched his own heart’s condition. “Hosea told me to come over to make up with you…” _Not make out_ , Arthur was tempted to add. Instead, he bowed his head to lean his forehead on Charles’ chest. He felt Charles kiss the top of his head gently and run his hands down his back. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Charles.”

“This doesn’t have to be anything…” Words tinged with disappointment.

“Damn, thought what we just did was clear enough.” He lifted his head, doing a quick glance back at camp before looking at Charles’ face again. “Don’t have to be anythin’ but I’m guessin’ we’re both interested in more.”

Charles’ face melted into something warm. A smile on his face was reaching his eyes, such a rare sight, and his pupils were dilated to the point where you could hardly see any color. He looked at peace for the first time since joining the gang. He was always on edge before, as he said so himself. It doesn’t help that some members, like Micah, aren’t always friendly to those in the minority.

“Well, then I’m glad we’re thinking alike,” Charles said sweetly.

~*~

Inexperience was a reason why Sean would never have been chosen for the train job. Javier has a much cooler head, Arthur would have chosen him over Sean any day, but unfortunately, their option for a fourth man was forced on them. Arthur never even said yes to the Irishman. He just told him to scram so he could get the sleep that the job was replacing. When it was time to wake up, Sean was still there so he was being brought along. Dutch was the one to usually take the newbies on jobs so he could get a feel for them and how they work. The only reason Arthur worked with Charles, between scouting with Hosea, before Blackwater was because they had so many new members and Dutch was beginning work with Micah for the ferry. Don’t know why Charles needed working with, he was plenty capable, he just needed to work on his teamwork skills.

So when John and Charles arrived, John groaning about Sean’s presence, Arthur could only shrug. Might as well take the kid with him so he gets the involvement he was complaining to Arthur about earlier. Who knows if he would even leave if John told him to go, since he thought it was Arthur’s job. Although the aiming skills that he exhibited earlier… well, the past Arthur would tell him to get his ass off the wagon and go shoot more bottles until he can prove he can actually hit a target.

He couldn’t even shut up on the way to where John knew where to park the wagon, despite getting growled at by the other three. Arthur was glad he was driving so he could concentrate on the horses instead. Maybe hanging off the wagon had its perks too, Charles’ exposed forearms sure looked like it took at least a bit of effort to stay on…

Roles were handed out and accepted without complaints. And everyone was performing well until Sean got blindsided by guards on the half of the train he didn’t cover. How did it even take him the time it took Arthur and John to go through two train cars to get to the baggage area? He wanted to prove himself so Arthur gave him a simple enough job and had Charles, a more capable man than Sean, take the easiest job. Didn’t matter anymore. If anything, dealing with the conductor was most important because he’s the one who controls the train.

“Uh, Arthur, two riders are comin’ up,” Sean’s voice rang out as Arthur finished looting a cupboard.

Only two lawmen, they can take them. The two hid behind some crates. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw John with Charles in tow rushing through the final passenger car to meet them. Arthur motioned to them to keep low as he ran his big mouth off…

More men came out of the brush and that’s when it was mutually decided to fight them off. They got what they came for, it was definitely time to leave.

“Who has the collection bag?” Arthur demanded over the sound of gunfire.

“Gave it to Mr S,” John answered.

They shot the remaining lawmen down and whistled for the horses. Charles was up on Taima with speed and right next to Arthur to hand over the collection bag. Once Sean was on his horse, because he was the last one, they were off with Arthur leading them. He took them over the hill back toward Dewberry Creek. It was also in the direction of camp but there was still enough distance between it and the lawmen on their tails.

Once they were in the clear, money was handed out and John and Sean went their separate ways back to camp. Charles sat on Taima, unmoving as he stared at Arthur expectantly.

“Had Sean not pushed his way into the job, there may have been more money for the gang,” Arthur grumbled. He peeked at the little valuables he collected from the baggage car. It wouldn’t sell for that much.

“John said he was going to investigate Valentine more,” Charles provided.

“There ain’t much that can be done in Valentine that won’t give us attention…”

“Something will come up.”

Arthur sighed and looked up from his lap to Charles. Strange, he didn’t take him for the optimistic type. Maybe he’s not and just trying to get Arthur to think positively. Whichever reason, the sentiment was appreciated. Arthur has plenty on his plate, sometimes nice words aren't unwanted.

“I hope you’re right,” Arthur murmured.

Charles looked at him with a spark in his eyes. A mischievous smile was on his face. It made Arthur feel young and stupid because that’s how he used to smile back in the day. Back when he was angry and would sniff out trouble for the joy of it. Back when he praised Dutch and Hosea for having already-decent bounties on their heads.

“I don’t have to be right to know that something will happen.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know the color of anyone’s eyes? Charles’ eyes look brown in the game but hazel in the strategy guide, Arthur’s eyes look blue in the strategy guide but the wiki says they’re green? ROCKSTAR, EXPLAIN! 
> 
> Also, Arthur is a greasy boy. Not as greasy as John, though. My evidence? My hair got a bit greasy after a few days of no shampooing (not gross, I was letting the natural oils do their thing, don't judge me) and it did its thing where it naturally curls and it looked like Arthur's curls. 
> 
> But yes! Fun chapter. Might have been a bit rushed at the end but I think the next part would've been a bit out of place in this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm sorry. I know I get to control when I post and that I'm not obligated to post anything at all but I could've had this up last week somewhere between Thursday and Saturday.  
> There is more in-game dialogue in this chapter. 
> 
> But here it is and I hope you enjoy.  
> (This is one of those chapters that I don't have much memory of writing.)

The morning felt a bit different than previous mornings at Horseshoe Overlook. Arthur’s chest felt lighter. His hair was definitely messier, having tossed and turned in his sleep for the first time in a while. His eyes also felt a bit blurrier and crusted with sleep, despite getting back to camp at a decent time in the night. He sat on the edge of his cot while he completely woke up and spent some time writing in his journal. 

Half of the camp was awake. It’s never really a surprise in the morning. There are the early birds, the ones who try to sleep until noon, and the ones who wake in the middle; like Arthur. Charles seems to be an early riser, judging by how he’s already chopping firewood over by the chopping stump. 

Arthur pulled himself up with a groan. Might as well do a few chores also before he’s sent out for something. He picked up hay bales and put them by both groups of horses for them to eat and brought the food sacks to the provision wagon. Abigail was in her tent, watching him with unfocused eyes. When she realized she was being watched momentarily, she shot up to her feet and followed Arthur as he went for the bucket of water for the wash basin. 

“Hey, Arthur, can you do me a favor?” When she got a sideways glance, she continued, “Would you mind doing something with Jack?” 

“Why? Because I’m your preferred nursemaid?” he growled. He picked the bucket up and maneuvered around Abigail and she still trailed him. It didn’t help that she was going to follow him right back across camp. 

“Because he likes you. And you know, well, his father’s useless.” 

Arthur snorted. It didn’t sound bad, doing something with Jack. Jack is a good kid, even after getting rejected by his father who claims to have no son. He at least has a loving mother who’s trying to make sure he’s raised as best as possible in his situation. Maybe if Arthur’s mother lived long enough he wouldn’t be in this type of life now. 

He poured the bucket into the dishwashing basin. “Fine.” 

“Thank you.”

After setting the bucket down, Arthur set out to find the boy. It wasn’t hard to find him since he has a few select areas he likes to play in. He was by the entrance to camp, playing by a rock while digging in the dirt with a stick. Using his imagination, no doubt. 

“What you doin’ there?” Arthur asked playfully, in that tone he’s used with very few children before. 

“Playing,” Jack answered joyfully. 

“How ‘bout we go fishin’? You got a pole?” 

Jack smiled up at him. “Yeah, okay! Hosea made me a pole!” 

“Great, why don’t you go and get it? Meet me by my horse,” Arthur instructed. Jack ran by him to go fetch his fishing rod. He has the energy Arthur wished he still had. Now he’s just tired… and old. 

Jack came back not long after Arthur mounted up. He handed his pole over for Arthur to stash away and then waited to be lifted effortlessly into the saddle. It was funny how light he still was. Not yet as heavy as the grunts Arthur fights on what feels like a near daily basis. Nowhere near as heavy as the full-grown bucks he slings over his shoulders. He’ll be gaining height before anyone realizes and then there went baby Jack! Hosea will have him reading in no time. Soon enough, he’ll be reading to the entire gang around the campfire. 

Geez, Arthur could still remember Hosea teaching him and John how to read and write. How long ago were those times?

The ride down to the river was calm. Jack talked about missing a storybook and wanting to head back to Colter to play in the snow. Arthur agreed that snow is nice but not the amount of snow they received in the mountains. Then he got tired of talking and pleaded for Arthur to ride faster. Cheshire happily obliged and ran at nearly full speed. It was fast enough to please the boy. 

They stopped by the side of the river. It was shallow enough right at the shore if Jack wanted to get adventurous but deep enough to actually catch some fish. 

Arthur’s never taught anyone else how to fish. Hosea was the one to teach him, the older man gladly teaching him a necessity so the original trio could eat some nights.  _ To cast the line, swing the rod back over your shoulder, and bring it forward in a smooth motion. Use your wrist, not your elbow. Wait for the fish to take the bait. If you feel the tip of your rod just… twitching? Don’t yank it yet, that means one’s nibbling. But if you feel a hard tug, that’s a fish going for the bait, so yank it hard to hook it. When the fish if fighting you, best wear him our before reeling him in or you’ll break the line. _

He repeated the words aloud as he went through the motions. Jack followed along with genuine curiosity but that soon faded when he wasn’t catching anything. It was sad to see him lose interest so quickly but he was still young and easily distracted. It will take time for the idea of fishing, a boring act according to him, to settle as something he can do to survive or just as a hobby. Or maybe he’ll never like it. John was never a fan of fishing, and he hated learning to read, too. 

Arthur caught three bluegills before Jack was calling to him about a red flower necklace he made for Abigail. It was a crude craft but it was made by a child with limited supplies. At least he made it from yarrow so he didn’t touch anything poisonous. Abigail, being the loving mother she is, will accept the gift as if she loved it as much as an actual wedding ring from Marston. 

Arthur was distracted by the child, he didn’t notice the approach of two men in suits. Their horses were surprisingly quiet, so when Arthur heard the first voice and the sound of a gun cocking, he whipped around. 

“What a fine young man… and in such complex circumstances. Arthur, isn’t it? Arthur Morgan?” 

There were two men walking from their horses. The one who talked was a skinnier man, looking just about bald under his hat. The other had a bit more fat on him and he was the one holding the gun. Both wore the same uniforms with a badge over the left pectoral. 

Arthur slowly turned toward them, keeping Jack behind him. “Who are you?” 

“Yes, Arthur Morgan… Van der Linde’s most trusted associate. You’ve read the files, typical case… orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac’s silver tongue… and matures into a degenerate murderer,” the skinner man said to his buddy. He then turned his attention back to Arthur to introduce himself and his partner. “Agent Milton. Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency, seconded to the United States Government. Nice to finally meet. We know a lot about you.” 

Pinkertons. This close to camp. Of course they had to spring when it was only Arthur and Jack. Firing a gun in this situation would be dangerous because they would probably murder Jack first. Just to make Arthur scared. Enrage him into attacking and then shooting him down before he could get far. 

“Do you?”

“You’re a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. There’s five thousand dollars for your head alone.” 

“Five thousand dollars? For me?” Arthur blew out in a low whistle. He didn’t know the price on his head was that high. It was surprising that more bounty hunters weren’t after him. Five thousand is a lot. How much were Hosea’s and Dutch’s bounties? They’ve been on the run longer than him. “Can I turn myself in?” 

Milton ignored the comment. “We want Van der Linde.” 

“Old Dutch? I haven’t seen him for months.” 

“That so? Because I heard…” the Pinkerton removed his hat to wipe at his forehead, “a guy fitting his description robbed a train… belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass.” He had a weird haircut. 

How were the leads on them so fresh? They just ran from the Pinkertons up in the mountains; they thought that would put enough distance between them! Instead, to get out of that hellhole, they left a perfect trail for the Pinkertons!

“Oh, ain’t that a little… old-fashioned nowadays?” Arthur laughed nervously. 

“Apparently not. Listen… this is my offer, Mr. Morgan… bring in Van der Linde… and you have my word, you won’t swing.”

The agent had a way of talking that rubbed Arthur the wrong way. Sure, he sounded educated. But it was like he thought of Arthur as a wild animal; illiterate and likely to attack if given the chance. Arthur wasn’t stupid. He may have a fast draw but a gun was already out, it would be a bit hard to fire before Milton’s buddy, Ross, did. Also, he wasn’t illiterate. 

“Oh, I ain’t gonna swing anyways Agent, um…” 

“Milton.” 

Arthur sneered internally. He didn’t forget the man’s name, he just wanted to press buttons. “You see, I haven’t done anything wrong. Aside from not play the games to your rules.” 

“Spare me the philosophy lesson… I’ve already heard it, from Mac Callander,” Milton boasted. 

“Mac Callander?” Arthur echoed. 

Arthur didn’t listen to the man as he explained how he killed Mac.  _ More of a mercy killing… _ He could imagine the fiery Callander twin spitting blood as he was on his last legs, finally pinned down by the weasel, Milton. Hopefully never spilled information but instead repeated Dutch’s talks. After not saying what Milton wanted, he was probably shot dead. It wasn’t a mercy kill. Mac would’ve fought tooth and nail before ever going down. Previous injuries have never stopped him. Despite not being able to walk once, he pulled himself along the ground to fire his gun before someone picked him up to put on the back of their horse. 

Arthur felt the anger in his veins come to boiling point. He threw down his fishing rod, earning a gasp behind him and feeling little hands bury in the right side of his pants. Ross was aiming his repeater at the outlaw now. As long as he didn’t lash out then no shots would be fired… 

“You enjoy bein’ a rich man’s toy, do you?” Arthur snarled. 

“I enjoy society, flaws and all. You people venerate savagery and you will die savagely. All of you.” 

“Oh, we’re all gonna die, Agent.” 

“Some of us sooner than others.” The Pinkerton sounded pleased. He got Dutch’s ‘most trusted associate’ riled up and lived to tell the tale. How could he not be pleased? “Good day, Mr. Morgan.” 

“Goodbye.” It was hard to keep everything at bay. Arthur could shoot both men dead while they turned to mount their horses. It would bring the law and the Pinkertons on them, but these two nuisances would be dead. But he couldn’t, not in front of Jack. 

The bigger man, Ross, scowled at Arthur before looking down at Jack. “Enjoy your fishing, kid… while you still can.” 

Arthur had to suffer seeing through red while waiting for him and Jack to be alone again. He stood guard in front of the boy until the other men were out of sight and Jack’s soft voice broke him out of his trance. 

They were too close to camp. They could come in the night and murder half of them before anyone would wake to fight back. Who’s to say that the capable fighters would even be the ones to wake? 

They had to get going, Arthur and Jack, although the gang will need to be moving again soon, it seemed. Jack got his things while Arthur folded his fishing rod back up and mounted Cheshire. Jack handed over his fishing rod and protected the necklace he made while getting lifted up. 

Jack was quiet on the way back. He asked about Mac, to which Arthur answered as he thought wouldn’t upset the child, and then he didn’t talk any longer. Probably thinking, although not as wildly as Arthur was. It was a good thing Cheshire knew the way back to camp from here because Arthur was so preoccupied he paid little attention to steering. 

Abigail was sitting by Arthur’s main hitching post when they returned. She greeted Jack warmly before telling him to go play. She knew something was up, judging by the tension around Arthur’s eyes. She asked, but Arthur said he met some folks and needed to talk to Dutch about it. Best not to worry everyone about Pinkertons or the whole camp will be stirred. 

“Dutch.” The man was in his tent looking at a book when Arthur came striding in. He looked up at the sound of his name. “We got a problem. I just met some fellers by the names of Milton and… Ross. They‘re from the Pinkerton Detective Agency.” 

“Were you followed?” Dutch demanded. He got to his feet, marking the place in his book before approaching the pacing, younger man. 

“No, but they know we’re  _ near _ here,” Arthur answered. “They want you Dutch… offered me my freedom in exchange, they did.” 

“Why didn’t you take it?” 

Arthur scoffed at the grumbled words. “Funny.” He watched Dutch leave his tent to do some pacing of his own. “What we gonna do?” 

“Nothing, just yet. They’re just trying to scare us into doing something stupid.” Dutch glanced around them, making sure no one was around with prying ears. “We made it through them mountains. We just need to stay calm.” 

Nodding, Arthur kept his sigh inward as Dutch walked off. So they were staying. Pinkertons had located Arthur not even two miles from camp, yet they were staying. Their camp wasn’t as camouflaged as previous camps were. The only things keeping them safe were the slope upwards to the camp and the cliff on just one side. By the train tracks, you could probably see something indicating their camp was in the trees. Didn’t help that sometimes whoever was on guard duty stood right up there by the trail. 

He sighed again before moving to his tent. Strauss wanted him to visit Thomas Downes, the do-gooder who stopped Arthur from killing Tommy. As much as he hates the scrawny man for interfering, he hates collecting for Strauss even more. Yet Arthur was going to go collect because he was asked to. No one else would and lord knows they need the money. 

So he headed out to Downes’ ranch. He was frustrated by Dutch’s decision to ignore the looming threat of Pinkertons, might as well add anger to the mix by doing work for Strauss. Apparently, no one else is capable of scaring people into giving back money like he can even though Bill and Charles are big men like him. What about Javier? He may be small but he can be threatening with a gun in his hand and a dark voice. 

Downes was out in his garden when Arthur got there and the feeble man tried to use a rake against him. It was pathetic. Arthur was even being nice at first, only threatening to beat him. But the man refused to say anything so Arthur decided to finally hit him only a few times. He picked Downes up and pinned him against the fence, demanding his money. Then the man coughed, getting some of his blood on Arthur’s face. 

_ Disgusting. _ Which, Arthur was right about adding anger to the mix. Normally, collecting for Strauss made him angry. But when people cough and spit in his face, that was worse. He let Downes fall to the ground and kicked him in the ribs.  _ Just because. _ The man’s wife and son came out of the house, begging to be gentle and give them more time. Arthur simply promised that he’d be back and they better have the money for him then. 

The camp was quiet when Arthur returned. He had stopped by a river to wash off his face before reappearing at camp. Hosea was at the hitching post, nervously wringing his hands with a dark look on his face. He frowned when Arthur looked at him. 

“You saw Pinkertons, then?” 

“Yeah.” 

The older man sighed. “Dutch needs to get his head on straight.” 

Arthur patted Cheshire’s shoulder after he dismounted. “I know. Hey, have you seen Charles?” 

Hosea smiled—it was sad, but a smile nonetheless—for a moment. “He was by the medicine wagon. Think he was eating but he was sniffing around the wheels. Probably checking to make sure no wheels are loose.” 

“Thank you, Hosea,” Arthur murmured. He accepted a pat on the shoulder before heading off to find Charles, grabbing a bowl of stew for himself along the way. 

Charles wasn’t fixing any wheel when Arthur found him. He was sitting on the rock hidden by the bigger rocks— _ real descriptive, Morgan _ —playing the harmonica. Arthur stood back a few paces to listen while he finished his bowl. He didn’t know Charles could play. He was good, playing some tune that wasn’t familiar to Arthur’s ears. He listened until Charles stopped playing, lowering the instrument from his mouth slowly to turn and look at Arthur. 

“Thought I was being watched…” Charles said lowly. He bent his head to look at the dull little thing. “Don’t play much…” 

“I’m no expert but I thought it was good.” Arthur set the bowl on the ground and tucked his thumbs into his belt. “Busy?” 

“Not at the moment. Depends if something isn’t done then I might take something over.” 

“Wanna go huntin’?” 

Charles chuckled quietly. He shook his head but stood and pocketed his harmonica. “Sure. I’ll meet you by the horses. Anything I need to bring?” 

“Pack warm. We are goin’ up in the mountains.” 

~*~

After a short stop in Valentine for a quick, warm meal, they headed up in the mountains before they ran out of daylight. The plan was to head for Colter and stay there for the night then go after the legendary bison maybe during dawn hours. Charles suggested that the bison will probably be more docile in the dark hours but will be easier to spot in the daylight. When they went after the bison depended on when they reach Colter. Arthur would like a rest after the day he’s had but if Charles wants to hunt then he doesn’t mind hunting. 

It looked like they were going to be spending the night at Colter. The sun was setting while they headed up to the Grizzlies and the horses would only go slower in the snow. It wasn’t the best time to be arriving but it was still better than at night. Some predators liked to roam at night and it was best if they don’t risk anything. Up here, bears and wolves roamed with big prey to feast upon when it’s time to eat. Slow horses wouldn’t be a problem for a wolf pack and a spooked horse will leave behind their rider for a bear to maul. Neither were fun to think about. 

There was some leftover firewood in the cabin that Arthur slept in during their stay the first time. He got the fire started and dragged the cot from the room he slept in and the cot in the corner of the main room in front of the fire while Charles took care of the horses in the barn. So Arthur loosened his heavy coat and sat by the fire to heat up some meat to keep their bellies warm for the night. He sat on the tail of his coat and held the meat over the fire carefully. He was mostly stalling until Charles came inside. He could write in his journal instead but he’s written about the snow before and it was worse than this. No point when snowy winters have been in his past or when the weather is calm enough like any snowy day. 

It didn’t take Charles long outside. He was proficient in untacking horses and they were easily fed with leftover hay. The easiest way to get halters and blankets on was when they were eating. He brought a chilly breeze with him when he opened and closed the door then joined Arthur by the fire. He had to shake Arthur out of his thoughts, thankfully saving the meat on the knife. 

Arthur cleared his throat and shook his head before offering the entire knife to Charles. The man took it and ate the piece off so Arthur could heat up his own snack. 

“Horses treat you well?” Arthur asked, facing the fire. 

Charles shifted to a more comfortable sitting position that happened to press himself against Arthur’s side. “Of course. You know how they are, they’ll do anything for a sugar cube.” 

“Yes, unfortunately…” 

Arthur’s skewered meat was a little crisper when he was done with it. He held it in the fire so he could hurry and eat it to give his mouth something to do. Couldn’t risk saying anything stupid like he’s good at. 

“What got Dutch and Hosea squirming?” 

“Beside each other?” Arthur huffed at himself. “Pinkertons. I went fishin’ with Jack, just at the river by camp, and met some Pinkertons. Hosea thinks we should leave but Dutch don’t wanna.” 

“That close, you say? We shouldn’t overstay our welcome if they’re already so close. You usually move this much?” Charles rubbed at his chin with his thumb. 

“No, we usually have time to settle down and get the most money outta any place we can. We haven’t even touched the bank at Valentine…I know Hosea wants to move and I can’t agree more,” Arthur sighed. He held his knife up to the fire to look at its silhouette. His trusty old weapon… It can’t be used to stab away as many problems as it used to. “We used to help people…” 

“Well. You’ll find a way. Dutch and Hosea seem to listen to you and each other. That’s the main thing; you need a head to function and you three are the head.” Charles was trying, he really was. It was sweet. 

Arthur chuckled. “The old guard, Dutch calls us.” 

“Arthur.” Charles’ gentle voice had Arthur finally looking at him. At the face he has no resistance against. “I… I can’t tell what you’re thinking. But I just want you to know that I’ll stand behind you, whatever happens. You have my word on that.” 

A warm feeling encased Arthur’s ribs. Curse Charles and his heartfelt words… marking it hard for Arthur to respond. Instead, he leaned his head forward to rest it against Charles’. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

Arthur didn’t know how long they sat against each other, resting their foreheads together and in a slight embrace. Admittingly, he started to doze off thanks to all the warmth. Charles was waking him up, his shoulder had become Arthur’s pillow. Surprising how Arthur never woke up from when he was transitioned from forehead to shoulder. He lets his guard down when he’s with Charles. 

“Let’s get to bed,” Charles murmured. He got Arthur on his feet and out of the way so he could push the cots closer to the fire. Arthur retrieved their bedrolls and set them on the cots. He shrugged his coat off and set it on his cot to sleep on. Charles was doing something of the same. 

So they each lay on their cots, facing each other. And there was that pang in Arthur’s chest, the feeling that he’s missing something. A stupid, sad feeling that he knows he can place because it sure feels a lot like loneliness. Course he wants to roll over and try to squeeze on just one cot but he didn’t know if Charles would accept that. If he would, is that going too fast? Arthur didn’t know this stuff anymore. He forgot that being attracted to someone could happen like a click. Hell, he didn’t know how to read the jitteriness in his heart. Only a day or so ago he and Charles kissed for the first time. 

_ Hell. _ Arthur sighed and rolled over onto Charles’ cot, hearing the thing squeak beneath the added weight. He managed to bring his bedroll with him, keeping it curled around his back for the warmth. Charles already had his bedding warm, too.  _ Nice to know. _ He looked at Arthur with clear interest. 

“Oh, stop looking at me like that or I might lose my nerve,” Arthur grumbled. He snuggled up to Charles and huffed. “Now lean down a bit so I can kiss you goodnight.” 

Charles chuckled at that. “Alright.” He did as he was told and bent his head so Arthur could meet his lips. It was a brief kiss but with obvious intentions. It got Arthur’s cheeks turning red and he finished settling against Charles, feeling the man’s strong arms wrap around him. 

“I can go back to my cot if you don’t want me here,” he mumbled against Charles’ warm chest. 

The other man hummed. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Now why would I want that?” 

~*~

Charles hadn’t got up even though he had been awake before Arthur. Maybe he enjoyed being Arthur’s pillow? Whatever, Arthur awoke to his head on Charles’ chest, mostly laying on him body-wise. It was made difficult to actually get up when Charles was petting his head, softly combing through his hair with his fingers. So Arthur laid there, feigning sleep so Charles would continue his administrations. 

He actually did fall back asleep because next thing he knew Charles was shaking him lightly, rubbing his arms down Arthur’s back to rouse him. “We should get a move on. We have a legendary bison to get.” 

“I’m up…” Arthur grumbled. He sighed against Charles’ shirt, the blue speckled one. The one that looked nice on him all around. Smelled of smoke and pine; like Charles. “Just… give me a moment…” 

A moment to enjoy this. The warmth and comfort, combined, that Arthur has not had in a long while. They can’t do this back at camp. No matter what Hosea says, the other gang members won’t be afraid to share their opinions. There will be someone who will try to stop the relationship. The public wasn’t any better about it. Being affectionate toward each other publicly can lead to arrest and hanging or outright lynching. Some towns are thirsty enough for a show, they don’t care about reason. 

Arthur just wishes he can shut away the world sometimes. Keep what he wants to be with behind closed doors so no one can touch him and what he grabbed. Sometimes it was always  _ Arthur, do this _ or  _ Arthur, do that _ and he just needed to put a pause on everything. He enjoys being reliable but he seems to be the only reliable one in the gang. It can be hard to sit back and relax like the others when someone’s breathing down his neck and giving him a plate of things to do.  

“Arthur, are you alright?” 

Arthur sighed and nodded his head against Charles’ chest. “Just tired. Enjoyin’ the moment while it lasts.” 

“Try not to take too long. It won’t be nice if we get caught up here ‘cause we dallied too long.” 

He hummed in acknowledgment and closed his eyes for a brief minute. Charles was lightly shaking him again when he realized Arthur was trying to get  _ a bit _ more shuteye. 

They put their coats back on and ate crackers and jerky for breakfast before gathering their supplies and going to the barn to tack the horses. As per Arthur’s request, they saddled up the horse not belonging to them. He just wanted to get a feel for Taima, see if she likes to puff her chest up like Cheshire does so the saddle would be looser (she didn’t, by the way). In fact, she didn’t mind him putting her gear on while she ate. She glanced back at him curiously and nudged his hand for a treat, which Arthur obliged, then went back to eating. Cheshire was also good to Charles. She puffed her chest up like normal, Charles commented on that, but she didn’t do anything to show that she hated him. He had to give her a treat so she would stop puffing her chest out but that’s how she swindles treats from people. Although neither horse wanted to stop eating to put bridles on. But if they were desperate, then they’d find a way to eat around their bits. 

“You know where this bison is?” Charles questioned after he was sitting in his saddle. 

Arthur was doing another once-over of his new hooded stirrups. “Back down the path some; near Lake Isabella. That’s what the map says, at least.” All was fine so he pulled himself up and grunted. “Guess we’ll have to keep an eye out for signs of it when we get there.” 

“Won’t be hard.” 

“If you say so.” 

They headed back down the path that closely followed the river. The horses didn’t appreciate going through the river multiple times but it was better than taking the trail that would make them double back and the horses would not appreciate either. The horses were left on the island in the middle of Lake Isabella while Arthur and Charles followed a track heading north into the trees. When they came across the beast, Arthur paused in his tracks. It was a true, white bison. He didn’t doubt the map that Hosea gave him, he just thought some things impossible until he sees them. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Charles whispered. He noticed Arthur watching him with hesitation. “But the camp needs the meat. By the time we return, this meat will be useful. And knowing you, you’ll take the fur to a trapper and make something out of the horns.” 

Arthur flashed an appreciative smile before they began moving again. The animal was busy eating while it was getting stalked. It allowed time to get in proper position and rifles aimed. Charles explained a plan on their way down on how to approach the bison. They both had rifles so Arthur would shoot first and if that didn’t kill it then Charles would also shoot. It was a sound plan. 

Arthur whistled. The bison raised its head and that was when the first shot went off. The poor animal made a weak noise and was still on its hooves so Charles fired his shot where Arthur’s went and the beast was dead. At least it didn't suffer. Its skull was probably thicker than the average bison’s, if Arthur had to guess. 

They set to cutting the pelt off as cleanly as possible, the horns were removed then wrapped inside the roll of fur. Arthur tied it to his saddle before resuming to help Charles cut the meat. They were able to wrap up and store most of the meat and fat in saddlebags and Arthur’s satchel. As long as they got as much as they could. 

They decided to go back up the path north to go around Lake Isabella. It was nice in the snow. It had its own beauty. It was also nice because Charles wasn’t complaining about it. Things as rude as snow tend to draw complaints out of people. 

“Whoa,” Arthur said, to Cheshire and Charles. He fished his binoculars from his satchel and sat straight in his saddle. Through the glass he could see much better. A white Arabian down by the exposed water of the lake. Arthur quickly shoved his binoculars into Charles’ hands and pointed toward where to look. 

“Wait here. I’m going to go say hello to her,” Arthur murmured. He hopped off Cheshire, instructing her to stay as he slid down the slope in a crouch so he wouldn’t spook the horse. 

Hosea taught him the basics of breaking a horse. A corralled horse, that is. Arthur had to clean what he learned up and advance it to break a wild horse. Surprisingly enough, wild horses aren’t as finicky as people think. Just talking to them, appearing smaller, and moving slowing seems to keep them calm enough to get close. And then once you’re close enough, hop on their back and wait for them to tire out. 

The Arabian was like any other horse, maybe a bit more on the skittish side, but she still was approachable. When Arthur was close enough, he grabbed a lock of her mane and pulled himself up. Her first hop nearly threw him over her head because he didn’t have his legs tight around her. But since he didn’t fly off, Arthur took the opportunity to tighten his legs and held steadfast on to her mane. She was lasting longer than horses Arthur has broken in the past, and it still wasn’t a comfy process. It never helped when the horses jump several feet off the ground from time to time or buck so strongly that Arthur gets sent onto the horses’ withers. But he bore through it because this mare would be worth having a sore groin. 

The Arabian gave one final whinny and pranced in place. It was as good as Arthur was going to get that meant she would accept him as a rider for now. He headed back up the trail, impressed that the mare is already responding so well. Charles looked from him to the horse multiple times, finally stopping on Arthur. 

“Impressive; both of you,” he said. 

Arthur shrugged. “Her, maybe.” He accepted his binoculars back as he patted the mare’s neck. “I think I’ll call her Greymore. She’ll be a horse to rival The Count, I reckon.” 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone tame a horse that fast, Arthur,” Charles pressed. 

“It’s nothin’.” Arthur shrugged. He avoided Charles’ warm gaze, feeling his cheeks heat up at the praise. It’s just breaking a horse. No one ever said that she would actually learn commands. “Let’s get goin’. Have that trapper south of here to visit and we’ll need to return to camp with meat that ain’t rotten.” 

Cheshire followed on Arthur’s left while Charles was on his right. Greymore was responding too easily to commands, but that was a good thing. Meant less training and that she’s hopefully very smart. And now that Arthur was riding a shorter horse again, he could easily slip his hand into Charles’ as they rode side by side down the mountain. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason why this chapter is 'late' is that I was actually working on another Arthur/Charles project that will be posted... eventually, that is. I don't know when I'll deem it ready because it's something I'm not well-versed in? I'm going to need my friend's help from time to time, most likely. I was initially planning to do a little 'Guarma break' as I call it where I was going to start working on it and posting then but I lack self-control. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I found an inflation calculator to plug in prices. (These prices are in USD and it's not my math so they could very well be wrong.)  
> Arthur's $5,000 bounty would be $151,262.81 in 2018.  
> If Dutch’s/Hosea’s bounty was $7,000 (because we don't have an actual price for them) it would be $211,767.94 in 2018. If we bump it up to $10,000 then it would be $302,525.63 in 2018.  
> The amount that they stole from Blackwater if they truly robbed $150,000 would be $4,537,884.45 in 2018.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to my friend, [WeShouldSpoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeShouldSpoon), for their help in editing the second half of this chapter. Without their help, the second half would have been even choppier than the first half is.

Micah was still in the wilderness out by Strawberry, though Arthur didn’t care. He had more important things to do, like go walk around Valentine with a very evasive John Marston. Not like he had more important things to do or people he could spend his precious time with instead…

The younger man had Arthur, who is known by more townsfolk than John, go into the gunsmith to retrieve a rolling block rifle. The gunsmith even brought up Arthur’s fight with Tommy while he was purchasing some items to improve the rifle. Proves they didn’t do a good job in not causing trouble and bringing attention to them. Although his and Lenny’s outing that one night wasn’t very helpful but that wasn’t the point. The point was, John wasn’t as good at being mysterious as Dutch can be. He just looked like a stupid wannabe. Just like when he was younger and looked up to Dutch with eyes so full of admiration you could taste it.

So why John was griping about how Arthur took Jack on a fishing trip was just getting annoying. The man didn’t want the responsibility but threw fits when it’s taken by someone else to deal with. What is he expecting when he rejects his child and then that child seeks out a father figure? There’s no appeasing Marston sometimes. It’s his way or the highway if he’s in a mood.

How hard was it to reveal that they were going to steal some sheep and sell them as their own? For John Marston, apparently very hard. He’d get slapped on the backside of the head if he was younger. Or maybe not, since he was Dutch’s golden boy.

Here they were now, eyeing the sheep they’re going to take. It’s a decent sized flock, can sell for a good price if each one is at least above two dollars. Arthur shot the rifle a few times to scatter the farmhands. Fools would rather protect their lives instead of the livestock. Didn’t matter, just made the job easier. The two men climbed onto their horses and headed back down to collect the sheep.

“You ever herd before, Marston?” Arthur asked.

John made a noise that sounded like a snort. “No, but I’m sure I can learn. You?”

“Yeah… once ‘r twice…” Hosea stole Boadicea off a farmer who they helped herd—or more along the lines of steal—some animals for him. The trio didn’t realize the man had more than enough animals to spare so Hosea buttered up to the farmer, praising all his animals and work. He set eyes on Boadicea and knew she would fit Arthur better than the old, ratty shire he was currently riding. So he managed to convince the farmer to put a price on her—$5,000—and returned in the night to steal her from the barn. He was sure that the farmer saw him on the way out, the farmer recognizing the at-the-time-blond man and Silver Dollar following beside the horse. It was a wonder how he rode back to their little shelter that night, considering he was still riding Boadicea and she was as wild as a saddled cougar the next day.

Arthur snapped out of the memory. “How ‘bout you leave the herdin’ to me once we round ‘em up. Just watch for wolves when we get movin’.”

John mumbled a “whatever” and broke away from Arthur to help round up the sheep. Old Boy’s heavy hooves were distinguishable among the numerous sheep hooves and Cheshire’s own. John can act however he wants, as long as he’s not biting Arthur’s ears off.

Arthur rode directly behind the sheep once they were rounded up. It wasn’t hard to keep them going toward Valentine. Only one or two strayed on the way and that was when Arthur would follow them and steer them back while John stayed behind the herd. It helped that Valentine was a straight shot and a simple path from where they collected the sheep. Also, the town was shaped so livestock could be driven right into pens.

“Nice plan, Marston,” Arthur hissed after walking away and learning they had to give up 18% of what they make so they’re not ratted out.

“What?” John snapped back. “We’re gettin’ our money. Come up with somethin’ better, then. Now c’mon, Dutch is with Strauss in this other saloon.”

Dutch and Strauss were sitting at the table in the corner when Arthur entered. Strauss got up, nodded to Arthur, then left the building. Arthur mostly ignored him and gave his attention to Dutch and an untouched empty glass and a whiskey bottle on the table. Dutch poured him a glass and they toasted to _Arthur’s good health._ They started to have a nice conversation… then Leviticus Cornwall was shouting outside.

This was the first time they’ve ever seen the man they robbed from. He was dressed too fancily for a town like Valentine and had a gut on him that expressed his expensive lifestyle. He had a posse of men dressed similarly, one a horse beside him and some up front, holding guns to John’s and Stauss’ heads. _Shit._

“What you think?” Dutch murmured. He stayed hidden at the table.

Arthur stood at the window, glancing out through the curtains. “You start spinnin’ the yarn and when I think the moment’s right, I’ll make a move.”

Dutch looked to be thinking over the plan as he sat in his seat with big eyes. He schooled his expression back to something neutral just before picking up the bottle of whiskey and taking a swig of it. “Why not.”

Arthur crept from the window to follow Dutch outside, both their hands raised in surrender.

“Please, gentlemen, this is a terrible mistake,” Dutch said.

Arthur began to tune him out as he studied the playing field. John and Strauss only had one man each holding a gun to their heads. All the men were watching Dutch. That meant Arthur could draw his gun and release John and Strauss… that would then trigger Dutch to act and hopefully shoot remaining threats… Somewhat of a risky plan but Arthur would prefer it than to seeing John’s or Strauss’ brains.

Time slowed as Arthur neatly drew his guns, hardly aiming, and fired at the men holding John and Strauss. Clean headshots. While Cornwall’s men recovered from the initial shock, Arthur aimed at the men in the background as Dutch pulled his twin Schofield revolvers to start shooting. Cornwall had left, along with his sidekick on the other horse, letting the rest of his men deal with the mess and unknowingly saving his hide in the process.

Cornwall's remaining men and now the citizens of Valentine who had guns were shooting from both sides. Arthur covered the back while the other three pushed forward onto the main street of the town.

“Where are you going?” Strauss demanded.

“We don’t run, Mr. Strauss!” Dutch answered.

Not running was sometimes stupid but running right now could get them killed. They didn’t have a choice but to fight back this time. Running now could lead the law to camp or get them killed during the escape. John just shouted; Strauss got hit. That proved their situation wasn’t well but it could be worse if they fled like Strauss implied he wanted.

“Cover us, Arthur, while we push the wagon,” Dutch instructed.

Arthur did as he was told, of course. He moved up to cover Dutch and John as they pushed the wagon with Strauss in it down the street. The goddamn inexperienced. Strauss is probably the only one who has never shot a gun in the gang, excluding Jack. And now they have to suffer through his whining after getting shot. Maybe if he knew how to shoot a gun or _never joined the gang_ they wouldn’t be in this part of the mess (and Arthur wouldn’t be the one getting sent out to collect debts).

“Arthur, put him on the back of John’s horse. We have you covered.” Arthur did so and John took off. Dutch gave instructions before mounting up. “You make sure nobody’s following us. We’ll get back to camp, gather the troops, and get ‘em to pack up.”

“Yeah, can’t stick around after this,” Arthur grumbled.

As the two men rode off, Arthur hid behind a wagon as more men came out to shoot him. Cheshire was a few paces away, thankfully behind the tent but he could hear her panicked whinnies. After shooting the few closest men, Arthur ran back to mount the horse and rode her south to follow the river. It was a fairly straight shot and wouldn’t lead anyone to camp while shaking the law.

It was an hour after the trouble in Valentine. Arthur rode in the wilderness on the west side of the Dakota while he waited for the law to settle down and only focus on keeping the town on lockdown. He didn’t want to stay away from camp for too long so Dutch wouldn’t think he got nabbed but it was safer this way. He’s actually on his way back to camp, staying well south and following the coast of Flat Iron Lake to before heading straight north.

The sun was high in the sky when Arthur rode into camp. There was a good amount of things already packed. Javier stood at the table used to play dominoes and five-finger-fillet, on guard. The women were scattered around camp, helping pack things up, and Kieran was getting the horses ready to move out. Pearson was packing up his wagon while Miss Grimshaw bounced back and forth between helping him and packing up the medical wagon. Some of the others, like John, Bill, Charles, Lenny, and Sean weren’t in sight. To top things off, Hosea and Dutch were having an argument in Dutch’s tent.

Hosea wasn’t happy with how things were going; the gang’s ideals were twisting to something darker that never was originally wanted. They’re moving soon, _that’s_ good. What Hosea’s wanting is to take a step back, review what the gang has become and evaluate the people they’re allowed to join them. People who were expecting to kill on a simple outing or quiet breakout were the ones who needed to be kicked out. Hosea left Dutch’s tent shouting.

“Dewberry Creek.”

“Huh?”

Dutch looked at Arthur with tired, disbelieving eyes. He knew that Arthur wasn’t really listening but had heard enough to understand something. “New camp location. Why don’t you and Charles go take a look? Clear out any folks before we come moving through?”

Arthur scoffed and headed out. “I’ve turned into the goddamn errand boy.”

“You have turned into my son. You worry because I worry! We are just the same!”

Arthur waved at him over his shoulder.

Charles was helping Mary-Beth by the women’s wagon, looked like he was doing the heavy lifting for the pallets they sleep on. He didn’t know that he was being watched by another set of eyes now, just focusing on lifting the pallets and probably listening to Mary-Beth as she handed smaller items over for him to add. It wasn’t until he had the pallets snug and tied in when he saw Arthur standing by Mary-Beth, hands on his hips and a hip sticking out with a little smirk on his face.

“Arthur,” Charles greeted _very_ warmly, “do you need me for something?”

Mary-Beth giggled and tried to hide the sound behind her hands.

“I do, in fact,” Arthur said with a nod of his head. He tipped his head back, somehow forgetting that he wasn’t wearing his hat. He stopped wearing his hat, unless he was out riding, when they made camp in Colter. “Dutch wants us to scope out a new camping spot. Dewberry Creek.”

“Alright, then…”

Arthur took the lead. They were out of the trees when Charles spoke up. “Dewberry Creek?”

“Yeah. I ain’t too sure if it’ll be good. I’ve been ‘round there a few times and it weren’t impressive,” Arthur sighed. “I hate coming out this way but what just happened in Valentine… We should have moved when I met them Pinkertons.”

“Ah, that didn’t sound good. But I’m glad you made it out unscathed.”

Arthur fought the smile growing on his face as his heart fluttered. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could’ve taken a bullet that wasn’t in the leg like Strauss got. During firefights, he enters a mode where he just aims and shoots. Life or death situations, like shootouts, get his blood pumping. While he may not be careless anymore, heavy conditioning taught him how to ignore petty wounds. It’s the fatal wounds that may be a problem and even they can sometimes be fought through.

After no reply, Charles changed topics. “I haven’t known Dutch long but the way he talks… I never imagined him wanting to go south.”

“You’re correct. And there’s no such thing as lyin’ low. There’s too many of us for that but it ain’t in his nature… to hide away in some cave. Goes against everythin’ he stands for.” They hardly had any problems when they were a small gang, staying ahead of their problems and not murdering every week. Back then, Hosea flaunted his skills at tricking people out of their money. Now, they rely so much on their guns and bullets…

“That it up there?” Charles’ voice broke through the cloud in Arthur’s mind. He’s gotta stop thinking about the past when he’s supposed to be thinking about the present and future.

Sure enough, it was Dewberry Creek. A dried up river bed with puddles of water from the last rain and what looked to be multiple streams going straight through. Right in the open with only trees at their backs. Only one way to go to hide and three ways to be surrounded. This was no camping spot for a gang as big as them. Maybe if it were just the old guard or the old guard plus John then they could pass as two fathers with their one or two sons…

“Yeah… very open. Don’t look like it’ll be very good against rain, neither.” It looked like a good hunting spot. “Let’s take a look around.”

“There’s a body. Looks like someone got here before us.” Charles was already on the ground and examining a corpse. He didn’t touch the body but it looked like he wanted to turn it over. “Looks like there’s a camp up ahead.”

Arthur decided to grab weapons from his horse as he dismounted. Repeater and rifle, never know what might happen. “Let’s go check it out. Any issues… shoot first, debate second.”

Charles gave Arthur a dirty look. “I’m not gonna shoot for the sake of it.”

Arthur buried the guilt trying to rise up and instead focused on investigating the camp. There were cans of food so he grabbed those along with the few revolver cartridges in the tent. Overall, everything looked relatively abandoned. There was no one in sight. The only odd thing was that how the camp was left and Charles was sniffing as he indicated someone was still there. That didn’t make a lot of sense, considering there wasn’t…

“Arthur.”

Charles was standing at the wagon. He had his sawed-off lowered and eyes on some boards blocking the space between the wheels. He motioned to it, eyes darker than normal; in hunting mode. Arthur holstered his revolver and stepped forward to remove the board and crates. After moving them and turning to face whatever he uncovered, he swallowed nervously. A woman was pointing a double-barrel shotgun at his head, two children—a boy and girl, presumably her’s—were crouched behind her. Arthur stared and dumbly raised his hands.

Charles recovered from his surprise sooner than Arthur, holstering his gun and raising his hands, murmuring, “It’s okay… it’s okay… you can come outta there. You okay?” He started to move forward but the woman moved the gun to affirm that she didn’t want to be messed with and it sent Charles back a step again. “We don’t mean you no harm…”

The woman’s lips became a determined line. She pushed the crate in front of her out of the way, causing Arthur to step back with Charles. Her children followed her out and stayed behind her. They had the entrance of the camp to their back, a great way to escape if they thought something bad would happen.

“He said a-are you okay?” Arthur asked. He wasn’t a fan of having a gun pointed at him by a possible inexperienced shooter.

Then she spoke and Arthur wanted to pull his hair out. German. They don’t speak German. He already met a man who didn’t speak the same language and Arthur had to beat him nearly senseless so he could go around the house and pick up anything valuable for Strauss. He’d never do that to a lady but language barriers have proven to be problems with him.

“Go on, get out of here. We need to land. Go,” Arthur ordered. He made a large swooshing motion with his arms that had the family cowering yet remained where they stood. “Get the hell outta here.”

“They took our father!” the girl—a teenager, at the most—spoke up.

“Who did?” Charles pressed gently.

“M-men… last night.”

“Where? Where did they take him?”

Arthur felt all the disgust in him sigh and roll around like a pig. It mixed with aged exhaustion and the feeling of getting yelled at for doing something wrong. It made the beginnings of a headache start to throb between his temples.

He turned to Charles to object. “Ain’t no business of ours. I don’t even speak their language.”

Charles slowly rounded on him. His usual warmth was replaced with something sterner, colder. It was in his voice, too. “You ain’t as tough and dense as all that. Come on, Arthur.”

They whistled for the horses. While they waited, Charles was already searching for a trail. Him, being the best tracker between them, easily picked something up. They mounted up and headed out of the dried up creek.

“What’s going on with you?” So here comes the grilling.

“What you mean?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“You were just gonna send that woman and her children on their way?”

Arthur felt some anger rise in his veins. He doesn’t like being called out, especially when he has… reasons. Hosea and Dutch can grill him about his imperfections and stupidity all they like but he never expected _Charles_ to do something like that against him.

“We’re wanted men. We got Pinkertons breathin’ down our necks,” Arthur growled, “We should be movin’ camp, not runnin’ off on some wild goose chase.”

“Come on, Arthur. That’s not how you are.”

“Well… maybe you don’t know me as well you think you do.”

Charles pulled Taima just in front of Cheshire, forcing the racehorse to stop and try to rear. The stopping momentum, coupled with Cheshire rearing, dug the saddle horn into Arthur’s stomach and he could’ve gone over his horse’s neck if it weren’t for the saddle. When he recovered, he looked up at Charles and saw the hurt written on the man’s face. Arthur felt bad but it was the truth, wasn’t it? They’ve spent lovely moments with each other but have they really talked about themselves? Arthur wished he hadn’t said that but his big mouth doesn’t always work with his brain.

“Guess I don’t.”

Charles spent a few more seconds staring down Arthur with glittering eyes and tight lips. He finally spun Taima away and resumed tracking.

They went over the train tracks and down a slope to the coast of Flat Iron Lake. Charles kept them going but spoke again, tightly and like he only wanted some answers. He asked what happened when Arthur went fishing with Jack and Arthur answered straightforwardly and honestly. That led to them briefly talking about Jack; how the boy will have a hard childhood but is lucky that he has so many aunts and uncles looking after him. Then Charles informed Arthur that John, the idiot that he always will be, was heading back to Valentine to collect the money for the sheep they sold. By that time, they were arriving at some place called Clemens Point, where a camp was set up. It would make a great camp, better than Dewberry Creek, as Charles pointed out.

They found the missing German tied up in the back of camp. When Arthur cut the man free, the man was spouting many unintelligible words just as gunfire erupted from the trees. Charles, pointing out the obvious, yelled about it being a trap. Thankfully, the German man stayed put so there was no need to worry about him getting hit. Maybe a stray bullet was possible, but Arthur and Charles were making quick work of their assailants.

“Charles, go find Dutch. Get the caravan to divert here. This spot should work for us,” Arthur decided once the fight was over. “I’ll take the man back to his family.”

“Alright,” Charles said.

“We’ll… speak later.”

Charles looked at him, squinting for a moment. “Agreed.”

~*~

Arthur took the man back to his family and returned to the new camping spot to wait for the gang. Once they arrived and started unpacking, he slipped out to head to the nearest fence to sell the gold bar he was rewarded. He and Charles still needed to talk but Charles got wrapped into helping set up camp, so Arthur wandered in the trees around Clemens Point, until he got bored and headed to the dock located on the edge of their new camp. He listened to the waves underneath him and against the dock legs and against the shore behind him. It would be odd to be sleeping near water again. Last time Arthur had slept this close to the water was when the gang was still at a very small size.

The sunset over the water was enjoyable. It would have been something to recreate in his journal if he had those fancy colored oil pastel pencils that Strauss claimed you could only buy in Germany from certain manufacturers. But sunsets were every day and Arthur knew that he would be seeing many more while the gang was camping here. They’d just have to keep an eye on Jack. The boy was smart, but he didn’t know how to swim yet, and since his father didn’t know either then who knows if he’d ever get taught. The rest of the gang would definitely take advantage of being so close to the water. It was such an easy source for cooking, doing laundry, and bathing, although Hosea would most likely encourage bathing down the shore or something else.

Arthur lit a cigarette and rubbed the cracked wood of the dock with his thumb. It was old, if the end of the platform dipping down into the water was anything to go by. Still usable, though, unlike the splintered, crashed boats on the other side of camp. They’d have to get a boat to stash here, use it for going out on the water. Arthur couldn’t wait to fish here. Maybe he and Hosea could go out and fish some day. Catch enough for supper. Wouldn’t be too hard if they caught the big ones he knew lurked in the depths of the pond. Arthur would have to go out looking for better lures.

Distracted by the thoughts of future chores, he didn’t notice steady footsteps on the thin wood behind him. It was foolish but it reminded Arthur of back when he was younger. Specifically, one time when he wasn’t feeling well so Dutch and Hosea rented and tossed him and Copper—though he was too sick to remember Copper being there—in a hotel room while they did some work. He was so ill and feverish that he actually wanted to go out and fish with Hosea and Dutch, which was unheard of from him because he was still in the stage of his life where all he knew to express was anger and petulance. They refused, so he laid in bed, alone, and drew. What he thought to be birds, deer, fish, and Copper, turned out to be sad blobs of smeared lead that were impossible to make out.

“You know, at first glance, no one takes you for a thinker, Arthur,” the low, molasses-smooth voice of Charles noted.

Arthur shook himself from his memories. As sweet as they were, he didn’t want to dwell. He’d let his memories stay memories and, if he was so thirsty to relive them, become breams. His days were too busy to be distracted by fantasies. In that moment, he was sitting on the dock at their new camp and Charles was standing behind him. The past was the past, and there was no going back.

“Let people think I ain’t got much to think about. That means they may leave me alone,” Arthur replied, swiping a hand over his chin.

“I don’t think people put the time in to get to know you. There’s something under that hard, dumb exterior.”

Arthur wasn’t actually stupid. He could recognize teasing that others might have seen as insulting. He grew up under Hosea, after all, and you couldn’t escape that man’s teasings. If you were on the receiving end of what he picked on you about, you had better be ready to defend yourself or spit venom back at him because he’d _never_ give up wordly battles. Arthur had the privilege of watching John get ribbed for the first time by Hosea and he was thankful he bore it much better than the younger boy.

“‘Fraid not,” Arthur murmured. He got to his feet to meet Charles’ gaze. There was a tight smile on his face.

“You’d be surprised. I don’t commonly associate myself with idiots. Bill is a rare exception, and only on occasion.”

Arthur sniffed. Perhaps it was time to finally play nice with Charles, stop being stubborn. He didn’t deserve it, and tension was written all in his shoulders, along with a cloud of worry on his face. Or maybe Arthur was just reading him wrong. Hell, he kept up his dumb exterior bullshit because, frankly, it was hard to believe otherwise. A man of his size could easily be passed over as uneducated. He may not have gone to school but he could read and write and that’s all he really needed. Dutch read to him and John from books and Hosea taught them both how to read and write. Just give Arthur a pencil and he’d draw a picture, if need be.

“Guess I ain’t a _complete_ idiot,” Arthur sighed. Today… had been a long day. He could feel the exhaustion sitting in his bones and slowly weighing him down. Who knows if he would even want to sleep tonight in the new and unfamiliar territory. “I didn’t mean to bite at ya earlier, Charles. I was jus’ tired an… conflicted. You get raised one way an’ then get told to do somethin’ different that you gotta obey… I’m tryin’ my best.”

Dutch and Hosea—but Hosea most of all—taught not to kill; using words could get you the same results but without the death (and without the mess). Hosea _firmly established_ his opinion about the gang’s current situation. Arthur had always followed his footsteps more closely so he shared the opinion, and yet he remained ever loyal to Dutch. As long as he wasn’t killing innocents, Dutch can say _shoot_ and Arthur didn’t need to be told where because he knew what Dutch wanted before Dutch did. Lately, though… Arthur didn’t even think Dutch knew what he was doing. And, as always, Hosea’s worries turned into Arthur’s anxieties. Dutch always said Arthur was his son, but Arthur knew he took more after Hosea.

Charles tipped his head to the side, looking thoughtful. He was so much better at hiding his emotions than Arthur was. “You have a lot on your shoulders—too much—and I’m sorry for that.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry over… ‘s not your fault…”

Warm hands cupped Arthur’s bristled jaw and he jumped. He needed to shave soon. The only reason he grew a beard in the mountains was because he didn’t have much time to shave after fleeing Blackwater. Plus, the extra hair on his face kept him just a bit warmer. A light stubble was fine, which was what it was at now, but he thought growing it out past that made him look worse than he already did. Besides, it never grew evenly over his scars.

“You’re right,” Charles agreed, compassion shining in his eyes. “But it’s not fun to watch you work yourself over, either. Sometimes I think, ‘Is Arthur going to drop off the side of his horse because he’s so overworked?’”

Arthur’s lips turned down under Charles’ fingers. “No,” he growled indignantly. “No, Charles. I know my limits.”

Charles looked doubtful and he let it show in his eyes. Arthur did his best to return the stare but he had to look away to check if they were being watched or not. Luck seemed to be on their side in this case, but who knows when they’d be caught. Micah wasn’t in the camp to harass them, but Bill was Arthur’s next biggest worry. At that moment, though, it looked like everyone else was still occupied with setting up the camp.

“Arthur…” The shorter man flinched and kept his eyes away from Charles. “This doesn’t have to be anything. If you’re not feeling this…”

“ _No,_ ” Arthur ground out between his teeth. His heart was beating faster, he noted. It made his hands start to shake as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Charles’ neck. He felt hands rest on his hips. “No, Charles. No, I just…” Heat rushed into Arthur’s face—he had been thinking about this for a while. “Why don’t we do something tomorrow? You and me? Like a… like a date? We get to know each other better…”

Charles chuckled softly. One of his hands drifted upward to rub Arthur’s back comfortingly. “Of course." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first ‘colored oil pastel pencil’ was invented in 1838 by Staedtler, a German company owned by Johann Sebastian Staedtler. Colored pencils weren’t getting made until the 1900s. So that’s why, in this story, they’re only over in Germany and available from ‘certain manufacturers’. This information could very well be wrong, however, because I pulled it from the internet and ran with it. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I'm warning y'all before reading, these aren’t exactly briefs. Think of them more like boxer briefs or boxers if you want. Boxers weren’t yet around at the time but I didn’t know what to do and these are longer than plain old briefs... 
> 
> I finally hit writer's block with this chapter. Either that or my head decided to slap itself too hard and finally caved. 
> 
> And just be warned? I may have ranted near the end of this chapter.

The next day started with Arthur heading down to the water's edge and getting a talking to from Dutch. The man was in his own world, retelling that his father fought in the civil war and his mother was buried outside of Blackwater. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Arthur was blinking at him blearily, his mind not quite up to speed yet. He was excited to visit Rhodes and see what’s in store for them in the new area. Like a kid in the candy store… 

Dutch wanted to get out of camp so he grabbed Arthur and Hosea, announcing that the old guard was leaving, and they left camp together. They decided that they were going to go fishing. On the lake, same one that they’re camping on, but in a different location. But then they— _ Arthur _ —helped chase down some escapees because Trelawny was in the back of the jail wagon that the escapees were in. They talked out a deal while Arthur chased down the convicts and got Trelawny out. 

But now he was on the lake with Hosea and Dutch with a warm feeling in his chest. Felt like the old days, just them three, joking and having fun. Except it felt different, too. Maybe it was because Arthur wasn’t angry now like he used to be or maybe it was just because it was a break from the gang’s current situation. The only disappointing part was that they were out for most of the day and Arthur was planning to do something with Charles today. 

“What do you think, Dutch?” Hosea said. 

Arthur blinked harshly and jerked his fishing rod when he felt something bite. It was more accidental than actually trying the catch the fish. 

“Hmm?” Dutch replied. He sounded somewhat distracted himself but he was actually trying to fish. 

“Our young Arthur, here, seems a bit distracted, don’t you think?” The man laughed to himself as he cast out again. “And I thought he would enjoy spending time with us old folks.” 

“What you thinking about, Arthur?” Dutch droned. 

The youngest man sighed as he fought the fish on his line. “Thinkin’ about what I’m doin’ after this. With Charles.” 

Hosea snickered and Dutch hummed. Dutch didn’t sound too involved in this conversation, only really partaking in it because Hosea roped him in. It lessened the words that Arthur was going to receive but it did not lessen the heat rising in his face. Stupid Hosea and his inability to keep his nose in his own business and business that could involve the gang… had to snoop in Arthur’s dealings. 

“Spit it out, old man…” Arthur grumbled. 

“Who says I have anything to say?” Hosea questioned. He sounded oblivious. 

“Me; because I know you.” 

Hosea’s line was untouched so he set his pole aside to grab Arthur’s shoulders, like he did when Arthur was shorter, and squeezed. It wasn’t interfering with reeling in his fish so he allowed it. Let the older man have his fun and toy with his junior before there is no time to. 

“You know me pretty well, then, son,” the older man chuckled. He gave Arthur a pat on the back of his head before picking his pole up again. “It’s nice to see you getting along with someone again. You kept to yourself for a while, after the gang got them new arrivals.” 

“Yes… it’s nice to see our boy making  _ friends _ , isn’t it?” Dutch, more or less, mocked. 

The heat in Arthur’s cheeks was still there but it also spread to the tips of his ears. He scrunched his shoulders in an attempt to get the collar of his shirt to hide the red skin. He didn’t need Dutch catching on, too… Why was it taking so long to reel in this small fish? He made quick work in reeling the little fish in before casting out again. Maybe if he busies himself then the two older men will ignore him. 

“Sure, we get along fine…” 

“He means  _ greatly _ , Dutch,” Hosea corrected. He caught something on his line but was distracted by it only for a few moments. “He and Charles get along better than he and John ever did. Along the lines of how he got along with Mary.” 

“Oh, really?” Now Dutch was beginning to sound interested. “Tell us how you  _ really _ feel.” 

“Naw, I ain’t doin’ this. Pack up, y’old men. Let’s go.” 

Hosea and Dutch reeled in what they caught and settled in the boat for Arthur to row. That was surprising, to say the least. He thought they would put up more of a fight, try to drag the conversation out longer. Hosea was the one who had spurred it on but as they settled on their seats to head back, all he was doing was smiling mischievously. Dutch, on the other hand, looked very at peace. Like he was proud of himself and what he was looking at. Which, maybe he was proud in both of those things. After all, he seemed to like Clemens Point to a degree and Hosea and Arthur were both in his sight… 

They sang on the way back to camp. Two older songs that they sang when it was just the three of them wandering around Ohio and Indiana. They even sang Three Mariners like when they went on the water of the Great Lakes. It was a song that Arthur could actually follow along easily, with it being one of the first songs he ever learned. Seemed it was to be a tradition anytime the three of them were on the water together. 

They pulled the boat up to camp, Arthur made a mental note to either dispose of it himself tomorrow or get someone else to return it to his spot. Dutch saved him the stress when he announced that he’ll have Lenny return it sometime in the remainder of the day. Hosea took all the fish they caught and headed toward Pearson’s wagon. Before he walked off, he stopped to pat Arthur on the shoulder and wished him luck and well and told him to be safe with whatever he had planned with Charles. He even said that the two don’t have to return in the night, they’re free to return in the next morning. Those allowances from the man were always a blessing. 

Arthur decided to seek out Charles. He wanted to leave camp before his nerves acted up and leave him pacing instead. The man was sitting at the new scout campfire with Kieran. Each kept to themselves. Kieran started to cower when he saw that Arthur was on approach. Charles noticed and sat straight to greet the enforcer. 

“Arthur.” 

“Charles,” Arthur returned. He glanced at Kieran nervously. “Um… Hosea said we can…” He frowned and cleared his throat. Kieran perked up and excused himself to go take care of the horses. “Hosea said we can spend the night out. Do you have briefs?” 

Charles lifted an eyebrow. “I have cut long johns.” 

“Are you, uh… you wearin’ ‘em?” Heat bloomed in his cheeks after his question. He averted his eyes to save himself any embarrassment. 

The man across the fire chuckled, a sound that Arthur engraved in his brain. Arthur had to raise his head to see the accompanying smirk. “Yes, I am. Don’t wear union suits… Why’s this?” 

“Plans for tonight…” 

Charles stared. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes were clouded with thought. He opened and closed his mouth several times but no words came. He decided to just tip his head at Arthur with a very lost puppy look. It was better than Marston’s when he’d try to get something he wanted. 

“Do I want to know?” he asked slowly. 

“Well, uh…  _ I _ can’t answer for you… If you got everythin’ then we can leave now,” Arthur mumbled. “Probably get to Rhodes at a decent enough time…” 

“Then let’s go.” 

They headed to the horses and saddled them up. Kieran was there and once he spotted them he went back to the scout campfire. That meant they were alone again. Though it wasn’t like they had to be alone by the horses. Arthur only needed privacy to collect Charles and Kieran wanted to be by the scout campfire. It worked out for everyone, in a way. If no one sees them leave, that’d be great. 

The horses were saddled up and the men left camp without anyone to stop them. Whoever was on guard was keeping an eye on the other path. It made leaving easy enough. They went up the trail and turned right onto the road and then a left so they were headed to Rhodes. Neither said a word but Arthur twitched in his saddle with nerves. 

Rhodes had nice buildings. They all had a matching theme and everything was generally clean. It was a decent town, a true facade of what the rumored families are hidden behind. The only problem was the orange dirt. The old guard, including John, went to Mexico once. It wasn’t a bad experience, very dry, but Arthur hated the orange sand. It made him itch. The white sand wasn’t bad, it reminded him of snow, but the orange sand drove him crazy. He didn’t mind the orange rocks of Colorado because any nearby water was blue enough to accent it but Rhodes felt like Mexico and the green grass wasn’t doing any favors. It all felt suffocating. 

The saloon looked almost as fancy as the bank. Flowers curled around the columns on the porch and luscious flower gardens were located in front of the porch and along the fence going around the property. A tree towered on the edge of the clearing, shading an area to hitch horses and park carriages perfectly. It sent all sorts of messages on how the town wanted to be viewed. It had classical vibes that were adjusted to the current western times. Looked colonial, almost, if those books that a young Arthur read were true. Places in the east would have that entire clearing paved just because they wouldn’t want to step in any dirt to get a drink. 

They walked the horses to the clearing and tied them on the same hitching post. The saloon was, thankfully, not very busy. A few men leaned against the bar and only a few tables and booths were occupied. As soon as they walked in, Arthur pointed left. 

“There’s a booth in the corner. Want to sit there while I get us food?” he asked. Charles crept toward the booth to peak. Once he decided it was empty, he turned back to Arthur. “What do you want to eat? I think they mostly have fish… fish or oatmeal…” 

“Just get me what you get,” Charles answered. He nodded to Arthur as they parted ways momentarily. 

At the bar, Arthur looked over the menu. Plenty of fish and a few odd meals that sounded carelessly put together for those who don’t eat fish. He sighed internally as his eyes raked over the options. Deciding, he ordered two plates of the perch and cinnamon glazed carrots and two whiskeys. The barkeep brought the plates and drinks out quick enough. 

“Fish…” Charles muttered when his plate was set in front of him. 

“You ain’t a fan?” 

The man shrugged. If he didn’t like it, he still ate it. “Not my first choice. Never ate much of it in my life. Was taught to hunt; trap or track and kill. Guess I didn’t have much reason to eat it since I was never taught to catch it.” 

Arthur hummed as he took too big of a bite. He chewed as much as he could but had to use some whiskey to wash it down. He didn’t miss the raised eyebrow of Charles. The man wasn’t judging, thankfully, only entertained by what was in front of him. It was a good look on him. Relaxed face with a calm smile on his lips. His hair was tied back but a few short strands hung over his face like a few of Arthur’s own temple-bangs. And he, against the pale green and white wallpaper, in a red shirt and an opened tan vest, looked like someone Arthur would compare to warmth. 

“You’re smiling.” 

“Am I? Guess ‘m just enjoyin’ myself.” 

The scene was nice. Since not many people were in, it was quiet. People came in later, according to the barkeeper. They’ll be out of here before then. It was the perfect volume to focus on Charles. It meant speaking in a bit softer of a tone but there weren’t many people to overhear if they got a bit loud, anyways. Meant also that they would be getting less judging stares. Two men eating together, smiling at one another, can always be taken in a bad way. 

They continued to eat. The man playing piano, wherever he was, provided nice tunes to fill the silence when they weren’t talking. When they talked, they did their best to share things about themselves. Arthur hailed from Ohio, in some little backwater town north of Kettering. His mother died when he was young and his father let him raise himself but also stepped in when he had to. Lyle, his father, provided until he was finally caught. Charles came from somewhere up north, like up in the Dakotas. He lived with his parents in his mother’s tribe until they ran away and then his mother was captured. His father became an alcoholic so he ran away to live on his own until he eventually ran across the Van der Linde gang. 

Both drifted sometime in their lives. Arthur was lost at a young age, full of anger. Charles was on his own at about the same age but much calmer, though that wasn’t saying he had emotional struggles. It was interesting to compare their younger selves. Without Dutch and Hosea, Arthur would have been long dead. His anger would be the thing to get him in trouble, blinded by it until he would finally be taken in by authorities and hung for crimes. Charles learned how to survive on his own when he was in his mother’s tribe. Though he still struggled with survival, mostly because of naivety. 

“Tell me about one of your scars,” Charles prompted. 

Arthur picked up a carrot between his fingers and squinted at it. Charles knew about his chin scar. The other two visible ones were a cut on the left side of his upper lip and the other was a little marred spot of skin on the right side of his nose near his eye. He used the clean fingers on his other hand to run his fingers over the smooth skin, oddly folded, on the side of the bridge of his nose. 

“Uh, this one… a younger John and I got into a fight. It was physical enough that we were rollin’ around an’ tryin’ to suffocate each other in the dirt,” Arthur huffed. “We got too close to a previous fire, I grazed some of the embers. Now this was when he was finally gettin’ strength an’ refused to bathe because he couldn’t swim, made him hard to grab. Anyway, he climbed right off me when I started hollerin’ an’ thrashin’ about. Attracted Dutch an’ Hosea like moths to a flame. Hurt like hell, especially when we had to pry my eye open to clean the ash out. Hosea said I was lucky the ember didn’t get my eye an’ also that I could still see out of it. Took about a day or so before I  _ could _ actually see out of it.” 

“They let you boys tussle like that?” Charles asked with interest. Concern was written on his face. There was no need for that… Arthur has both his eyes and can see from them. All he got out of that was a burn scar, nothing too noticeable. 

“They couldn’t stop us all the time. ‘Boy will be boys’, Susan said. We got along sometimes but there were moments where we had to let out our energy an’ it wasn’t always the nicest way.” He took a bite of the carrot and shrugged. “Any scars you wish to share?” 

Charles leaned on the table and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. He stared down Arthur with a tenderness that made Arthur want to join him on that side and cuddle against the warmth he knew the man gave off. It was a rare feeling but a relative memory matched that feeling. A much younger Arthur, crying in Beatrice, his loving mother, Morgan’s arms after learning his father got arrested after stealing food for them. Or another time when their terribly old dog passed and his mother was once again there to hold him in her arms. 

Charles tapped a finger against his chin before pointing to the largest scar on his cheek. “I was on a hunt, one of my first few, and I was alone. There was a white-tailed buck I was tracking. I shot him but it wasn’t a killing blow. When I approached him, he looked at me with the clearest eyes I’ve ever seen on a deer. I think I hesitated too long ‘cause next thing I knew, something spooked him enough to jump up. His antler caught on my cheek. I think he spent most of his energy trying to get away because I went to finish him off again and it… it looked like he was pleading with me, like he was sorry but just wanted me to end his suffering.” 

“I didn’t take you for someone to look into an animal’s soul, Mr. Smith,” Arthur mused. 

Charles snorted. “Bet you didn’t expect I had a pet raccoon once, neither.” 

“You got that right.” 

They finished their meals not long after, Charles was the absolute last one to finish due to him not drinking much of his whiskey while he ate. A little convincing from Arthur and he reluctantly finished his bottle. Truth be told that Arthur could have gone back to the bar for more alcohol but he thought it best if they get moving, best to leave before many more of the locals come in. 

They left their dishes at the table and headed out to the horses. Arthur had Charles stay with the horses so he going go to the general store to buy some towels and fish bait. Charles gave him a strange look when he returned but all Arthur did was put a finger to his lips. 

The sun was starting to go down in the sky and it looked like they left at the perfect time. More people were beginning to show up at the saloon when they rode out, Arthur in the lead. The horses were ridden at a slow speed, heading east. When they met the Kamassa River, they started following it north. Neither said anything, just enjoying each other’s company and the natural silence. A bottle of aged pirate rum was passed back and forth, though most times it was in Arthur’s hands. It was a little thank you from Bill after getting some pomade for him. Arthur turned them left, into the trees and brush, after the bridge over Ringneck Creek. 

The entire ride was spent with the horses at a walk, maybe a trot occasionally. It gave them time for their stomachs to settle but also for the sun to completely set and leave the cloudless night sky above. Arthur had his lantern out as they approached the end of the creek, where two connected ponds sat. 

“Are we fishing?” Charles guessed. 

“Not this time.” Arthur climbed off Cheshire and put the lantern on the ground. He started to unsaddle the mare, listening as Charles began to do the same. Before letting her graze, he slipped her rope halter on. “Or maybe it is. We ain’t using poles, that’s for sure.” 

Charles gave him a skeptical look as he came up to the edge of the water with him. 

“Time to strip.” Arthur didn’t regret saying that, it sounded funny in his head, but he couldn’t stop the heat rising in his cheeks. He coughed lamely into his hand and avoided eye contact. “Down to your briefs.” 

“Oh, you’re smooth…” came a rich, rumbled reply. 

Arthur turned away to remove his own layers. Shirt, vest, suspenders, pants, boots, and socks; then he was left in his homemade briefs. He set his messily-folded clothes on his saddle, boots next to it, and rejoined Charles. And hell, Charles was a  _ sight. _ That man… goddamn. Arthur had to bite his lip and look away so he didn’t let any embarrassing sounds escape. Charles was robust all over and had little scars scattered on his skin, just like Arthur. Sure, Arthur has seen his exposed forearms but that was nothing compared to seeing so much of him and  _ all _ of his arms. It didn’t help that he was in the process of tying his hair back so all of his arm muscles had the chance to get shown off. Arthur was seriously reconsidering this little outing. 

“I-I was thinkin’ we’d noodle. It’s like fishin’ but with your hands. But if you don’t wanna get wet, that’s cool. We-we could do somethin’ else instead…” he babbled. 

Charles’ kind eyes were on him when he looked up again. They were finishing roving over his shorter, almost-as-muscular frame before meeting his own eyes. They were calming, trying to ease the nerves that no doubt showed. 

“So you’re teaching me to fish with my hands now and with a pole another time?” Charles prompted. 

“Sure… I-I was hopin’ for bigger fish… it’ll be hard to catch bluegill…” 

“Don’t matter, let’s do this.” 

Arthur ignored the butterflies in his stomach and knelt next to the water. He felt the mud cover his shins and knees. The moon flashed off the fish scales. That was how they were going to see, then. He explained that. Just watch the fish carefully and lunge. Try to grab one but be aware of their sharp dorsal fins. 

He decided to show Charles. As soon as a fish got close enough, he shot out. His hand touched something slippery so he closed his fingers around it and quickly pulled back. Sure enough, there was a bluegill in his hand, flailing and trying to get free. 

Charles nodded slowly. “Where’d you learn this?” 

Arthur shrugged. He returned the fish to the water and sat back, putting his hands on his hips. “I’d spend time during the day away from Dutch an’ Hosea if I got overwhelmed. This was when we were still new to each other, mind. If there was a body of water I’d go there. Started tryin’ to catch fish I saw with my bare hands. Had the hang of it by the time we picked up John. That’s also when I learned he couldn’t swim.” 

A smirk flashed on Charles’ face. It was hard to see since he leaned forward to take a turn at noodling. He looked hesitant, ready to jump multiple times, until he finally lurched. Arthur saw the fish. It struggled and kicked up a lot of mud. Charles stuck out a hand to steady himself until he sat straight with empty hands. 

“Had its tail. Damn, you make it look easy,” he huffed

“Years of practice. You got real close. Never seen a fresh-face get that close so fast,” Arthur praised. 

Charles chuckled. “Kiss-ass…” 

Arthur knelt by Charles and watched him attempt to catch a few more fish, getting about the same results every time. There was one moment when he started to raise something out of the water but the fish proved to be too slippery and escaped back into the water. He didn’t look discouraged like John did. It looked like he was having fun, smiling even as another fish slipped from his grasp and watching the fish swim between his noodling attempts. 

Then Arthur decided to start some friendly competition once Charles caught his first fish. He moved to the other pond, announcing he’ll be back in a bit after he catches plenty more. The other man scoffed at him but his concentration didn’t stray. 

Arthur’s blood started to pump faster at the thought of competition. It wasn’t as fast as it would be if he was against other people but nonetheless, he felt excitement in his veins. He kept calm otherwise and shut off some of his senses to use the ones only for the task at hand. This mostly required sight so that was what he used. He watched the fish then lunged in to grab them, adding them up in his head before returning it to the water. There were some that he missed, after all, he was perched on a ledge higher than Charles’ perch in the mud. Though that meant he couldn’t stick a hand out in the water to catch himself when he felt something brush his exposed shoulder. 

Arthur toppled forward in the water. He went under but it was shallow enough that it wasn’t over his shoulders when he stood up. When he checked to see what touched him, he met eyes with Charles; the man biting his lip in an attempt to hide a surprised smirk. Arthur was so deep in his own head, he never noticed the man come over. 

The water was a bit chilly but it would be fine once grown accustomed to it. Arthur let himself float in so his shoulders could stay warm against the now-cold air on them. Thankfully there was no breeze so his wet head wouldn’t get even colder. 

“Water’s fine, Charles, should take a dip. If you can’t swim, don’t worry, you can touch the bottom,” Arthur invited with a wink. 

His mischievous grin was matched before he was joined. In one smooth motion, Charles had taken the tie out of his hair and gracefully slipped directly under the surface of the water. He was under for a few seconds then emerged right beside Arthur. His eyes sparkled easily in the moonlight. A simple look from him had Arthur drawn in. Sturdy arms encircled Arthur’s waist, his back to Charles’ chest, as they waded to the deepest point of the pond and just floated. 

Times spent with Charles were always great but this was different, for some reason. Their hunting trips were always an outlet for them to calm down and doing errands together gave them time to be alone. But this… Tonight, there was contact and they had time to bare old wounds for each other to see. Not only that but stresses from moving camp again melted away and were replaced with sweet quality time with Charles. Here, at this moment, it was just them and no other worries. The gang wasn’t on the run and no $5,000 bounty was on Arthur’s head, when he was with Charles. 

Arthur carefully turned in Charles’ arms. Charles found a rock to lean against, keeping them both in the water still but now he wasn’t the one keeping both of them afloat. It made it easy for movement. Arthur wrapped his arms around Charles, feeling the man’s back muscles tense momentarily under his fingers. Charles’ eyes drifted from the sky down to Arthur. 

“I know we talked ‘bout what if we never joined the gang but what if we just… left?” Arthur asked quietly. He rested his chin in the center of Charles’ chest and sighed deeply. He blamed what little alcohol he had. The pirate rum was strong, however, so mostly his nerves were at least calmed. Explained why his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest for such a question. 

“Then… we leave,” Charles answered with a shrug. His eyes drifted back up to the stars but he rubbed his hands along Arthur’s back in sign to show he was still in the conversation. “Find or build a little shack on a hill or just roam the countryside. Though I never thought you had it in you.” 

“I… I don’t.” It was hard to admit it and it had been hard to ask that question. Arthur could never leave Dutch and Hosea behind. They raised him, after all. He knew he was like a son to them. “But there’s always the chance of somethin’ going south… If we ever need a backup plan…” 

“Well, as long as I’m by your side, I don’t care where or what we do if we need to split from the gang.” 

Arthur sighed again and turned his head to lay on Charles’ chest. He listened to the steady heartbeat underneath; a heartbeat unbothered by a question that the most loyal would see as a betrayal. Charles had no clue what the gang used to be like. It was once a true family. The curious couple and their unruly son, add on another son and lady and that’s when the gang started growing. They started picking up more degenerates and trigger-happy folks. Then they stopped redistributing the cash they stole and it instead turned into needing money to move the gang. 

He and Hosea… they may have talked about it once or twice. Once back when the gang was small and Hosea was worried he and Dutch would be ripped away from Arthur due to their crimes. Susan was with them at the time but Hosea wasn’t worried about that. He had confidence that Arthur could bust them out of jail but he didn’t want Arthur to risk it. The second time he and Hosea talked about it was when they were camped outside of Blackwater. They both were worried about jobs going wrong and that was when they chatted. Hosea wanted Arthur to get the good folks to safety if anything went wrong. Arthur assured they had solid leads and a better job than Micah’s but Hosea didn’t want to hear it. He just made Arthur promise to do so. It was so like the man to make plans beyond plans. 

“I ain’t good with my words, Charles, but I… you’re a good man. And you…” Arthur cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad to have you at my back.” 

A hand removed itself from his back to delicately steer loose hairs away from his face. There was no reply to his words, not unless you count a low hum that emanated from the chest below. It was a sound so pure and clear, being so close. 

They stayed in the water until they were shivering and had pruny hands. A small fire was started quickly and they dried off with the towels Arthur bought before the bedrolls were put around them. It would probably help if they removed the wet briefs they wore, to get warmer, but they definitely weren’t ready for far yet. Arthur felt his cheeks heat up at the thought. 

They settled against each other for the night, wrapped in their bedrolls, together, with the fire at their backs. Sometime in the night, Arthur escaped to the other side of the fire. Resurfaced nightmares kept him from returning Charles’ pressing gaze. He stared deep into the fire, willing away memories that were topics of his nightmares when he was younger. Charles was smart and kept his distance, watched Arthur work through the thoughts racing in his head. Hosea taught him to breathe, so he breathed. He had to stop thinking of Lyle’s hanging, lifeless corpse; of a burning barn with Arthur trapped in it; when he was shot off Boadicea and nearly kidnapped. Stupid brain, stupid emotions. Those memories were from when he was fueled by his anger and troubled by anything that shook his world the slightest. He didn’t understand why Charles was patient with him, why the man had any interest in him. Dutch and Hosea had to literally tame him as a boy before and after they took him in. 

Charles murmured soft words, hazy to Arthur’s ears, until the shorter slowly returned to the bedding. Charles spooned him, wrapped his strong arms around him, and used some of the bedroll material to wipe at Arthur’s face.  _ He wasn’t crying… _ Apparently, he let some tears slip. Charles whispered a few more words until he deemed Arthur calm enough. He gave the man in his arms a few attentive pecks to the crook of his neck before settling down again. 

Come morning the two were had legs intertwined and were sweating from the warmth that each of their bodies produced. They kissed sweetly before taking one last dip in the pond to clean up a bit. Charles regarded the other softly, he spoke carefully and calmly. Arthur appreciated the man’s kindness but he didn’t like getting treated like glass. 

“I ain’t gonna shatter…” he grumbled as he tightened his gun belt to his frame. 

There was a quiet, airy sigh from Charles. “Maybe not but everyone has their breaking point. Everyone has knicks in them from their pasts, some just break sooner than others…” It sounded like he was quoting something or someone. When he saw that Arthur opened his mouth to retort, he continued. “And I care enough to try to make sure you don’t push yourself that far. Hosea may be the only other one who’ll check in on you but he gets busy with his own things, too.” 

“You don’t gotta…” 

“I don’t, but I want to.” 

Arthur continued grumbling under his breath until he was hugged from behind and reminded of the warmth and kindness and honesty that made up Charles Smith. An honest man, true to himself and others. Loyal to the Van der Linde gang and Arthur Morgan himself. To say that he was a simple member of the gang would be the understatement of the year. Not only did he pull more than his weight but he has been a great companion that Arthur should learn to appreciate more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some way to end, huh? I know, sucks. I've been running low on inspiration so this chapter was a bit messy and decently unreadable. Sorry. You'll get a Charles POV next chapter, I believe? 
> 
> Since the saloon serves catfish, I decided there was more fish on the menu. I’ve never personally had catfish. I’ve only had perch, walleye, bluegill, and the fish sticks you get in a box. And since perch is actually in the game, I decided they could eat that. 
> 
> I’ve never noodled. The closest thing to that was when I was younger I would stomp around the shallows of my grandparent’s pond and try to catch minnows. 
> 
> ABOUT THE PaNTS. Briefs and long johns weren’t quite around yet, the union suit was in style. That makes me think that there had to be something, though, right? So basically I’m saying, in this fic, these boys back in the day had some type of briefs to wear. Long johns were around so the briefs are basically cut long johns. There were jockstraps at the time but… I don’t think these people change their underwear every day, I don’t think they’re into jockstraps… Also? These folk aren’t civilized. I don’t think they really care all about fashion and what a bathing suit looked like at the time. 
> 
> I tried my best to make their date as smooth as possible. >.<


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to post this yesterday but when I finally got the time it was about midnight. If I didn't have to wake up at 04:50 during the week then I would have posted it. But you're getting it now and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> If you got notifications about updated chapters (because I don't know if anyone is subscribed and I don't exactly know how subscriptions work), it's because I went through each chapter and removed the number of words in the notes because I think those were stressing me out.

Sadie and Pearson had argued all morning until they were finally interrupted by Arthur. It was just in time, too, because the knife in her hand was aimed at the camp cook. She wanted out of camp; she’s tired of just cooking and she wants to pull her own weight. The camp needed resupplied and Pearson hinted Arthur could go to Rhodes with the wagon and Sadie to knock out two birds with one stone. However, Arthur was finally heading out to retrieve Micah. That meant tensions between Sadie and Person would be left a mess and Micah would be added to the camp to put everyone else on edge.

“I’ll go with her,” Charles offered. He stood at Arthur’s side. He planned to head to the horses with the man to see him off and wish him well but they stopped here to put an end to the commotion.

All three gave him looks. Sadie looked excited, she didn’t care who she went out with as long as she got out; Pearson looked surprised, and Arthur looked contemplative. It was all up to Arthur, since it would most likely be his word if Dutch or Hosea don’t suddenly return within the minute.

“I… guess,” Arthur decided. He nodded slowly. “Just be careful, don’t cause any trouble in town. Dutch don’t want that yet.”

“Oh, you know me,” Charles scoffed.

Arthur smiled and waved a hand dismissively at him. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun shoppin’. Meanwhile I gotta go fetch Bell…”

They split there with a soft goodbye. Arthur tore out of camp on Cheshire, taking the northern path. His ride will be all the way back to Strawberry. Who knows if he will return by nightfall. Cheshire can cover great distances in a day but it’ll be Micah’s job that will ultimately determine when Arthur returns. Which was a shame, considering Charles and Sadie will be in Rhodes for probably not even an hour.

Sadie was restless as she waited for the horses to be hooked up. Charles put the equipment on the horses and hooked them up to the wagon. He went over the buckles several times to make sure everything was hooked up correctly. There was no need to approach Pearson for the list of things they needed and mail that he wanted sent out. Sadie had already grabbed everything and sat impatiently on the seat.

The ride to Rhodes was stiff. Sadie sat with her leg bouncing up and down and there was a faraway look in her eyes. She read over the list several times before opening Pearson’s letter to read to herself then repeat the funny bits aloud for Charles. And honestly, Charles was trying to handle the situation as calmly as possible. He wouldn’t appreciate it if someone went through his mail but he’d never be able to stop someone from reading mail not meant for them once it was out of his hands. He doesn’t do that anyway…

At Rhodes, Sadie assured she was fine. She kept her gun holstered but her hand darted to it multiple times. Though, this was after she pulled her pistol and started waving it around. Charles was lucky he stopped her and put a few important words in her head before he headed off. Should Arthur have done this instead? Will Sadie only listen to him and decide to rebel against Charles? Wouldn’t matter unless something happened.

Dutch explained to the new gang members about the fake name the entire gang goes under. Tacitus Kilgore. It was… something. Sounded like one of those fancy English fellers that have some sort of rank. Charles didn’t know why they ran under such a fancy name but he’d never question it. If it worked, then it worked.

The man behind the desk accepted the mail, all smiles under his mustache, so Charles headed back to the wagon. Sadie stood alongside the wagon in a new pair of pants and shirt. She looked smug as she chatted with the worked currently loading up the wagon. Charles only glanced at her before he gave a hand in packing the wagon.

Sadie seemed real happy with herself. She twirled her gun on a finger as she sat in the driver’s seat, waiting for Charles to join her. Charles decided to hand over the reins and let her drive them back to Clemens Point. Might as well let her have her fun before she was roped into camp chores.

They were out of Rhodes and maybe halfway to camp when some men decided to stop the two. They called themselves the Lemoyne Raiders. Probably men who fought in the Civil War. Some wore the old uniforms to support it. Crazy people in these parts.

Sadie drew her gun first, and with good intentions. The Raiders were going to force them to pay some sort of tax for just rolling through the town. Probably had plans to rob the two, while they were at it. The gunshot stirred everyone. The horses connected to the wagon shot off, meaning Sadie had to use her hands to steer them, so Charles sat passenger and shot at their pursuers. When they deemed they had some time before another group of Raiders set it, the two parked the wagon in some nearby trees and emerged to hide behind some rocks.

Sadie fought with passion that entirely unknown to Charles. Her entire posture was rigid but flowed just right to keep her alive in a gunfight. From times when he got glimpses of her eyes, they were alight with a fiery passion that made him want to turn away to let her kill in peace. It didn’t help that she laughed when she landed a shot that made a Raider’s head explode. It was surprising that such a woman had so many bloodthirsty tendencies underneath.

They made quick work of the Lemoyne Raiders. It was clear so they hopped back on the wagon and headed back to camp. Charles had the reins this time and got them back as quickly as he could without spilling anything from the wagon. Local nuisances were always the worst, especially the ones with sour pasts. Thought they owned everything…

“We won’t be telling anyone ‘bout this, will we?” Sadie questioned hesitantly. The horses were at a slow pace since they were on one of the paths into camp.

Charles sighed and weighed the options in his head. This originally wasn’t his business. He didn’t know what he was supposed to report, if he was even supposed to report activities like this. He decided. “I’ll talk to Arthur about it.”

“Thank you.”

Pearson readily greeted them when they got back. He failed to hide his surprise of seeing Sadie happy about the outing and immediately took to teasing her about it. Sadie said another thanks before Charles left them to unpack the wagon.

That was just the morning. Charles took on guard duty for the rest of his days so he could be alone with his thoughts and enjoy the peace before Micah returned. Having been so long away from camp and missing Horseshoe Overlook entirely, he will no doubt have bones to pick with people for no reason. That was how it worked before Blackwater, too.

When hooves came storming down the path in the night, Charles thought it was Micah. He called out, as usual, to see who it was. The hooves skidded to a halt and there was Cheshire, coming to a sliding stop just a few yards away. She panted heavily and looked around with wide eyes. Charles didn’t hesitate to sling the repeater in his hands over his shoulder to approach the horse and pet her neck. Heat radiated from her and looking back at the saddle cinches showed sweat soaking into her coat.

Charles looked up at her rider. “Did you run her here all the way from Strawberry?”

Arthur looked partially shocked. “Uh… no.”

“Tell me you gave her breaks…”

“Of course, Charles! I know horses. She wanted to run so I let her run,” Arthur explained. He fished out a sugar cube and handed Charles it to give to the mare. “Though I’ve never had a racehorse…”

“Where’s Micah?”

“We split. Said he’d be back tomorrow after stoppin’ by someplace for beer.”

Charles shook his head as he fed Cheshire her treat. Alcohol was the whole reason Micah got in trouble. Dumbass. He walked alongside the horse to the hitching post and helped untack and brush her off before letting her roam with the other horses. He and Arthur stood to watch her find her way to Taima. The two mares nipped at each other in greeting before grazing.

“She’s a smart girl.”

Arthur smiled. “I know.”

They got their bowls of stew together and headed to the docks to eat side-by-side. Arthur shared how his day went first. For an outing with Micah, it was surprisingly calm and straightforward. Robbed a stagecoach and then got ambushed by some O’Driscolls. Charles shared his outing with Sadie, how they stopped at the general store in Rhodes and he delivered Pearson’s letter. Then they too were ambushed but by the Lemoyne Raiders.

“Everyone’s alive. Dutch don’t need to know about it,” Arthur murmured when Charles brought Sadie’s worry up.

“Fine by me.”

~*~

The following days left little room for interaction. Charles carried on with camp chores and gathering of meat for meals and little valuables for the box. Arthur worked with Dutch and Hosea on their plans of getting between the seams of each family for the rumored gold. After Dutch’s job, Arthur came back ruffled and clearly uncomfortable. After Hosea’s job, Arthur came back smelling like moonshine and was a bit tipsy. It wasn’t hard to get what happened out of Arthur after each of his outings, though it was noticeably easier when he returned during the night with Hosea. By the sound of it, Arthur and Hosea indulged in some of the moonshine before setting aside the final remains for a later use.

In the following morning, the morning after Charles had to help guide Arthur to bed, Charles sat on a crate outside of his tent to whittle. He planned to carve a bison. He had a little bison carved before Blackwater and it was one of those things that got lost in the ruckus, among the other things that other gang members see to have lost. His ears were open, so he did not miss Dutch and Arthur talking, getting closer, too, in fact.

“Oh, the sight of the pair of you would make a statue sing out its secrets,” Dutch purred. He patted Arthur on the shoulder and wished him luck before heading back to his tent.

Arthur took the last few strides to stand over Charles. His cheeks were slightly pink and he immediately scratched the back of his head. That was definitely a quirk that hinted he was uncomfortable; uncomfortable or embarrassed.

“Head out on some business with me?” he asked.

There was really no way of saying no. Arthur has some of the air of authority that Hosea and Dutch present. That was one way you can’t say no to him. The other was that, if he’s asking or telling you to go with him, that means he likely has reason. The only reason he interacted with Micah was because he was told to. He (‘secretly’) likes working with John because he knew John could hold his own. Charles wasn’t stupid. He noticed that, just like how he knew he might be Arthur’s number one companion to work with.

Charles nodded up at the man. “Okay.”

A brief smile flashed on Arthur’s face before he turned away first to saddle up. Cheshire was half ready. Her bridle was on and it kept her hitched and her saddle blanket sat on her back. Arthur hadn’t been awake for long so Charles wondered if Lenny, who stood by Cheshire’s hitching post, had started to get her ready. Taima was untouched so Arthur had to sit on his mare while he waited for Charles to join him.

It was nice to be with him, in the daylight and not before or after work with others, when he’s either tired from sleep or drained from the day’s activities. Though he was in work-mode, clearly not interested in anyone’s shit, he seemed to give Charles a softer side. It was… rough around the edges but it was clear he tried his best.

“So where are we going?” Charles questioned. They started down a path out of camp. Looked like they were heading toward Rhodes.

“Dutch wants us to have a talk with Trelawny. Find out more ‘bout those bounty hunters he said was on our tail,” Arthur murmured. He waved his hand around. “Find out who they are, where they’re comin’ from.”

Charles thought about the Pinkertons. Arthur wasn’t talking about them. Some people finally decided to go after them, by the way it sounded. Would these bounty hunters search hard enough that they find the Van der Linde camp and force them to move again? It didn’t help they were involved with two warring families. Arthur and Dutch playing as deputies for the Grays could get them in trouble if the Braithwaites look and recognize them.

“What’re your thoughts on Dutch’s plans?”

Arthur’s sigh could be heard over the horses’ hooves. Or maybe Charles just put the sound he remembered with the familiar motion of the man’s shoulders falling. “I think they’re a mess. I don’t know how to feel. Hosea, I trust more with tearin’ a family apart to get the secrets beneath. But Dutch? Becomin’ deputies is definitely just a game to him. He’s havin’ his fun until it’s time to throw the Grays to the wolves. And there’s no tellin’ if we’re gonna get scratched kickin’ ‘em out. But bein’ deputies ain’t the greatest idea because we’re hidin’ from the law by bein’ law. May just draw attention to us.”

Charles nodded. It was an action for himself since Arthur rode ahead of him. He didn’t know Dutch too well but Arthur still followed him so his plans must be sound enough. And he knew Arthur’s loyalty was strong but not to the point where he was blinded by it. It was good the gang had level-headed leaders. Had someone like Bill or Micah been high in rank, things would be in turmoil.

“And Trelawny. Can we really trust him?”

“Trelawny’s a slippery bastard but, yeah, we can. He gets into the cracks the rest of us can’t,” Arthur explained.

They rode on toward Rhodes until Arthur turned them. They headed toward a little circle of caravans. It was quiet. No other people were around and it looked as if someone was recently in the caravan with a low fire outside. They hopped off their horses, Arthur headed inside to investigate while Charles looked at things outside.

There were plenty of tracks, specifically of horses. It looked as if they rushed in, pranced some, then rushed back out. There looked to be about five, if the human footprints were correct.

Charles grabbed both horses as he followed the tracks to the back of the caravan. He listened to what Arthur found inside while he himself stayed outside. No point in going in. Trelawny wasn’t here but they had tracks to follow. It was enough to go by.

“Ain’t nothin’ in there,” Arthur grumbled when he exited through the back. He looked up at Charles—who just mounted Taima—expectantly.

“Well they were kind enough to leave a trail. We can follow that and see if it leads to Trelawny. Not much else to go by, if not…”

Arthur climbed into his own saddle and sighed. “Lead the way.” He snatched the reins from the saddle horn and followed Charles as the man followed the trail.

The trail led straight into the trees in the distance. They were lucky to have such an easy trail to follow. It led them to a camp of two men, where the two Van der Linde boys beat them senseless to get some answers. It was deserved, considering it sounded like Trelawny was treated no better. Grumbling, Arthur snatched Trelawny’s cane, the object that contradicted the men’s story, before saddling up.

Charles continued to lead them. They had to get to some cabins apart of the Braithwaite Manor. They may not be wanted on that lot so they’d have to sneak in. From where they’re currently at, Charles could take a shortcut that would allow them to not even see any of the guards. They’d come across some field workers but hopefully no overseers.

They had luck getting in. There was no need to follow the trail; they actually couldn’t, considering the bounty hunters got much closer to the Braithwaite guards. It didn’t matter, Charles knew where to go. Arthur probably did, too, but he never said anything. To him, it would probably be out of character to be the one leading. Didn’t make sense to Charles, but the man seemed content with it so he supposed he was too.

They stopped outside of a lone cabin just as two men came outside of the little building holding a ragged and beaten Trelawny between them. A third came out behind them, lazily swaying with his steps. They saw their visitors and froze. They dropped Trelawny without hesitation and tore off toward the cornfields.

Charles slid from his saddle and took a few long strides toward Trelawny. The man waved him off weakly. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Go after them.”

“Let’s go, then, Charles,” Arthur growled from behind.

Arthur took off like he was in a race; which, maybe he was. His body was built to fairly mirror an athlete’s so he could easily accomplish running. Charles, to his own credit, kept some pace. He himself was built for heavy lifting, not so much of running like Arthur was. He jogged behind and watched for any sign of the bounty hunters. Arthur had already sniffed one out so Charles set on finding another.

After two were killed, only one remained and that was when they had issues. Charles was the one to find the bounty hunter’s shedded gear. Arthur scoffed at that and quickly stormed away to continue searching. Charles stayed crouched over the gear. There were tracks alright, but all were too fresh to properly follow. Didn’t help that footprints went both ways in the isle between the corn.

There was suddenly a choked ‘Ah’ from Arthur and a thump a few rows away. That did not sound right. Charles took a few long strides until he was at the opposite end of the row Arthur and the third bounty hunter were in. Arthur was on the ground, struggling against the lasso around his neck that the bounty hunter behind him had tight. Arthur kicked out with his legs, to no avail, and was unable to get his fingers under the rope. He made little gasps, unable to take in any air. It made Charles’ heart beat faster.

Charles holstered his gun when the bounty hunter had a pistol aimed at him. He raised his hands in surrender.

“He’s mine!” the bounty hunter boasted. “Let me take him, you get outta here.”

“You… have my friend…” Charles said slowly. He couldn’t help his eyes from switching from the two men’s faces.

The bounty hunter laughed. “He’s not your friend… I’ll give you money—”

The bastard was so sure of himself. He started to reach into a pocket, giving Charles enough of a window. On his belt was a little pouch of throwing knives, all sharpened to make killing blows when aimed perfectly. He cleanly pulled one out and threw it so it managed to strike Arthur’s capturer in the heart.

The tension was off the rope but Arthur struggled for a second more before he was able to loosen the rope. He gasped greedily and laid there, too out of it to remove the rope yet.

“Arthur,” Charles murmured. He approached and knelt next to the shorter man. As soon as he rested a careful hand on a shoulder, Arthur flinched and rolled away. With the action, he sat up and tore the lasso over his head with disgust.

Charles took a step back to give Arthur space. The man’s eyes were unfocused and his body trembled. He was still breathing heavily and clearly not with it. A few more seconds and he was able to shake himself from whatever trance he had been in. His frame still trembled but he pushed through it.

He avoided Charles’ eyes when he got to his feet and spoke, “You should have taken the money.”

“I know, I’m a fool,” Charles replied softly.

Arthur clearly hesitated. “Thank you…”

Gunshots drew them to the grey barn. It was like clockwork or the parts of a well-oiled machine. Only two bounty hunters were there but they still fought back. Nothing unusual. They luckily fell easily. That meant it was time to collect Trelawny and head back to Clemens Point.

Trelawny sat on a chair on the porch of the cabin, looking well-worn. He slumped in the seat and it looked like it took plenty of effort to raise his head so he could look at them.

“Hello, dear boys,” he greeted.

They got some information out of him. Charles collected Gwydion and brought him over, meanwhile. Josiah never spoke a word of the gang, thankfully. He—more or less—bent the truth about himself and anything the bounty hunters tried to get out of him. And then he requested to come back to camp with them. Charles watched Arthur carefully. Arthur looked troubled, faraway, even, but there was something happening behind his eyes.

He nodded. “Let’s get you up and go, then.”

Both Arthur and Charles helped Trelawny into his saddle before they each mounted their own horses. Taima tossed her head when she wasn’t allowed to nip at the gelding. She didn’t seem happy, also, when she wasn’t allowed to walk beside Cheshire. Instead, she had to walk with Gwydion between her and Cheshire. Charles never thought his horse would get attached to another horse, let alone another mare, like that.

They took it easy on the way back to camp. Trelawny looked ready to fall out of his saddle at any moment so that was why he was sandwiched between the two mares. At least if he fell one way then someone would be there to catch him.

Charles adjusted himself in his saddle to look at Arthur. The man stared ahead, eyes unblinking. Looked like it was Charles leading them back.

Upon arrival, many people seemed surprised to see Trelawny. It wouldn't be a surprise to Charles if some people haven’t ever seen the conman before. He and Arthur helped him from the saddle before helping him over to the medicine wagon. Someone would deal with him, now that the attention of camp was on Trelawny.

Charles noticed Arthur had somehow slipped off. It shouldn’t have been so easy, considering their sides were nearly touching moments ago. Cheshire was gone, too. But Arthur was a big boy, he can do whatever he wanted and return when he pleased.

Charles moved away from a gathering crowd to untack Taima. Once she was free, Charles was roped into covering the remaining of Sean’s shift so the Irishman could investigate the commotion for himself.

~*~

John took on the next guard duty when the sun disappeared from the sky. Charles was relieved to grab a bowl of stew after a long day. The quality wasn’t bad. People have been pulling their weight to keep everything running. It was, however, a shame that many of them struggle with bringing back decent or better meat. Some of them didn’t realize how nice they had it; vegetables and meat in meals they don’t have to cook and some of them didn’t even contribute to the meals. Hell, Uncle, Swanson, and Strauss had the best treatment in camp since they never do anything…

A lone silhouette sitting on one of the rocks on the grass on the north edge of camp caught Charles’ attention. His eyes were too trained to spot that figure; he couldn’t call himself foolish for thinking it was Arthur other than anyone else.

If Arthur could hear Charles approach, he didn’t show it. He sat forward with his elbows resting on his knees and hands cupped over his mouth. His eyes were distant and glazed over. Nothing showed on his face, he wasn’t even blinking.

“People seem glad to have Trelawny back,” Charles started. He waited for any reaction but got none.

There was enough space next to Arthur so Charles took cautious steps forward until he was seated next to the man. Still no reaction so he took it as a sign he was allowed to stay. Better than nothing, he supposed. Getting comfortable on the stone beneath him, Charles stretched his legs and felt his foot tap something. It was a bowl of the stew, definitely from this night. There were spoonfuls missing from it but not much. Jack’s bowls that he may not finish have less in it when he says his tummy is full.

“Did you eat much?”

Arthur finally twitched. He blinked harshly and turned his gaze down at the bowl. He glared at it like it personally offended him. “Tried,” he croaked. “Throat’s provin’ to be a pain.”

Charles leaned forward. In the poor lighting he could still see the angry red line of rope burn and purple bruising around that from earlier. He didn’t doubt it was painful, especially seeing how desperately Arthur had been sucking in air. That didn’t explain how he acted after …

No words were passed between them for a time. Charles had put a hand to Arthur’s back to rub comfortingly. The man getting the attention tensed briefly before he loosened up to accept the administrations. He hid his face in his hands, after that.

Charles, knowing that Arthur could go silent for the rest of the night, looked up to the sky. It was a clear night. The Milky Way rose from the horizon. All its pretty stars were enough entertainment. Little shooting stars were brief but pleasing enough. Charles wasn’t much of a stargazer but he knew what to appreciate. Was more than what city folk can say.

“My father… when he was caught for the final time, they got him straight off his horse. Lassoed ‘em by the neck. He went flying back… Ugliest chokin’ sound I’d ever heard. ” Arthur was quiet and his voice rough. His hands no longer covered his face but his words were spoken to the ground due to the angle he sat at. “I was with him. He was takin’ me out for a ride, finally spend some time with me… He was on the ground ‘fore I knew what was happenin’. I didn’t know what to do. Never had to deal with him and his dealin’s with th’ law before. Law decided for me.

“I stopped my horse soon as I noticed my pa was off his. Some bastards behind me decided to rope me up, too. Got the lasso right ‘round my neck and pulled me off just the same. Lyle was his name, my pa… he was callin’ out like I’d never seen before. Stop it, he’s just a boy. He ain’t got no dealings in mine. He’s innocent in all this… First time he ever defended me. After my momma died, all he did was work to deal with the loss. Never paid much attention to me…

“The lawmen dragged me ‘cross the dirt, just like my pa, like we committed crimes right then and there, before they finally decided to tie us both up. I was the most bloody and beaten. Nearly choked from the dirt and rope, I did… They didn’t give a damn.”

“Arthur…” Charles murmured.

“Don’t—” Arthur huffed. He straightened to put his hands on Charles shoulders. He wasn’t looking Charles in the eye, rather the chest, but it was an improvement. “I want this off my conscience.

“It weren’t until my father and I were in a jail cell together they decided I wasn’t guilty. But they forced me to attend the hanin’. As a punishment for what your daddy did,” Arthur spat. “So I stood in the crowd with an officer at my back to watch Lyle Morgan, the last of my family, hang. He refused to look at me until they was about to pull the lever. Then he finally looked at me like he never knew I was there but he knew. I was given all his things afterward. They threatened to lynch me if I ever acted up in their town… I fled, my rope burns were infected. Some lady took me in, took care of me until I wasn’t sufferin’ from fever. Ran away in the night when I had most of my senses back…” Arthur sniffed.

“I didn’t mean to act out earlier. I just… the feelin’, it reminded me of back then. The final day when Lyle decided to act like a father and was torn away. And them officers just laughed as they drug me around… I swallowed dirt, got dragged through mud an’ water… an’ all they did was laugh… they didn’t care they were torturin’ a boy. I thought I was gonna die that day…” Arthur laughed bitterly and shook his head. “Life flashed before my eyes. Never knew it was possible till then.”

“Arthur…” The man looked like he was ready to argue. Charles wrapped his arms around the smaller man. He cupped the back of the man’s head with one of his hands and hummed lowly. “Thank you, for telling me.”

Arthur shuddered in his arms. Charles felt the man embrace him in return, felt a face get pressed to his collarbone. He appreciated Arthur, Dutch’s attack dog, who is seen as invincible, showing his vulnerability. He had laid bare old wounds for Charles to see, an act that had to be terrifying for Arthur. It showed that he was human and not a senseless attack dog many make him out to be. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, there’s no such thing, but he was perfect in Charles’ eyes.

Charles turned his face into the soft waves. He felt that his shirt was a bit wet where Arthur’s face was but it was just between them. Moments like these were only for them. Arthur lets his guard down when he’s with Charles and that meant everything. He never thought Dutch’s enforcer would open up to him. Hell, he never expected to get close to the other man.

“I will always have your back. Promise,” Charles whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for the last chapter. I was in a mood when I was finishing it up and maybe still a little in that mood when I started this chapter but all has cleared up. Magicians For Sport is probably one of my favorite missions in the game, along with a mission that will be in the next chapter... ୧>ل͜>୨
> 
> Also, we will probably go through this part of the story (Clemens Point) faster than the last part (Horseshoe Overlook) because I'm not a fan of some of the missions here. There will definitely be a few more chapters at this camp but they won't be as 'narrated' or follow the game missions as closely as previous chapters. Maybe. I don't write the chapters ahead of time anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blessed are the Peacemakers is one of my favorite missions. I feel like it's underrated but I'm cool with that. 
> 
> If you did not like that mission because the events that transpire, just be warned reading this chapter. I don't think I went very in-depth but I'm warning y'all just in case.

There was some sort of unspoken understanding between him and Charles now, Arthur noticed. Charles didn’t handle him like he was made of glass after he, admittingly, let some tears out into that familiar dotted white and blue shirt. It was obvious that he had. The material clung to Charles’ skin there and it was noticeably a different shade. And Charles simply comforted him through it; rubbed Arthur’s back, cooed sweet words, didn’t say a thing that Arthur could ever take wrong or twist to use against himself. Following days of that night never resulted in Charles treating him like an invalid. It made Arthur finally realize Charles was much more serious about _them_ than he thought.

Now that Greymore was accustomed to having a saddle on, Arthur was beginning to take her out on rides. Charles always went with him so there was another horse on the spot, just in case Greymore got spooked and possibly bucked Arthur off. She was a decently calm horse. She would need to be desensitized of gunshots but that wouldn’t be hard if she can accept them as fast as she accepted her saddle. She was a horse to give the Count a run for his oatcakes.

Her first major ‘test’ was when Arthur, Charles, Bill, and Uncle went to go rob a wagon full of payroll. Robbed Leviticus Cornwall again. Just their luck. Guards arrived not long after Arthur and Charles collected the money. That meant they had time to run, so that was what they did. Arthur stayed in the back and fired at the pursuing guards. And then later, when they holed up in the barn, Arthur hoped she would return when whistled for. When night had fallen, and their assailants were dealt with, Greymore returned.

Arthur and Lenny went for a ride the next day. Hosea wanted Arthur’s skills passed onto another protégé, not just John, so they were shooed out of camp.

Arthur thought Lenny was a good kid. Hosea really liked him and that meant Arthur would and should, too. He had lots of potential and was already educated well. He was a bit on the softer side, if Arthur had to describe him, which was why Hosea wanted him to learn some of Arthur’s rougher skills. And Arthur was no longer the prize pony so he didn’t get angry at the looming threat of replacement. He knew that there will be a time when his work is done; that he won’t be in the gang forever, all things come to an end.

They were at some old, abandoned church that Arthur decided to sketch when they saw an entire wagon full of dynamite. It was suspicious enough to follow. A good idea, since it led them to a hideout of Lemoyne Raiders. They cleared the hideout and took the wagon for the gang. Turned out it not only had some dynamite but there were some guns and ammunition, too. Lord knew they could use it.

Then, the following day, Arthur headed to Valentine with Bill and Karen to hit the bank. Arthur really didn’t want to. He caused enough trouble there, robbing the bank meant that he really hit everything there. Back in the day they never made such a mess of a town. The only reason he went along was that he knew the gang needed the money. That, and Bill was talking shit and Arthur wanted to put him in his place.

All went as well as it could, considering the group who went. Bill pushed for the safes to be blown open with some of the dynamite that Arthur and Lenny brought back the day before but Arthur decided to go with cracking them open. He unleashed too much on Valentine in the past, the least he could do was not destroy their safes. It also meant there was a chance they would have an easier escape. The law couldn’t get onto them as fast if they aren’t heard.

Bill bitched and Karen sighed. They could piss off, for all Arthur cared. He wasn’t in a good mood while they escaped from the law and Bill’s attitude specifically didn’t make things easier. Passing the money out meant the other two headed back to camp so Arthur did that readily. Though he couldn’t head back to camp, since Strauss wanted him to check back up on the Downes family for the rest of the debt they need to pay off.

And it turned out that Thomas Downes was dead not long after Arthur came by the first time. Or maybe it was some time between that and the second visit, since Mrs. Downes complained that Arthur came by not long after her husband was buried. Wasn’t his fault that the family was stupid enough the get a loan from Strauss. Wasn’t his fault that he was sent out to retrieve the money. Wasn’t his fault that _he_ was sent out to collect. But maybe Arthur shouldn’t have been as bothered after that as he was. He rode back to camp in silence, staring down at his saddle horn nearly the entire time.

Things were quiet in camp. Arthur threw the collection at Strauss then sought out Charles and dragged him to the dock. There was nothing to talk about, or nothing that Arthur felt comfortable with spilling. He at least told Charles that the Downes’ debt was completely collected and Charles stared at him thoughtfully the entire time. Hopefully he understood that Arthur couldn’t convey the proper words of his discomfort. He described as best he could how dirty he felt underneath the present layers of dirt on his skin, how watching the mother and son duo pack up their feeble belongings made his heart start to race.

Charles was too understanding for him. He didn’t show disgust when Arthur admitted he went back for the debt. He sat quietly while Arthur vented about how he hated collecting for Strauss, that there was no one else better for the job. And he didn’t add much for Arthur to revel in. He just changed the topic to fishing and asked when Arthur was going to teach him and went on to change it to other random topics. The gesture was appreciated, however, and Arthur wondered if Charles had been talking to Hosea on how to calm him down.

~*~

A truce with Colm… it sounded off. It didn’t help the feeling in Arthur’s gut when Dutch decided to accept. Pearson seemed glad to hear that the old blood feud could be ended after the meeting. Micah encouraged it, too. He wasn’t as enthusiastic as Pearson but he still pushed and pointed out that they could just return if they don’t want to accept any terms. That seemed to finally steer Dutch into agreement.

Hosea called out that it was a trap. Arthur couldn’t agree more.

Yet they saddled up. Arthur’s pulse quickened as they left. He didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to Charles. That wasn’t what had him getting jittery but he knew the sentiment would be appreciated. Charles could have wished him luck and maybe given him a kiss…

Colm and Dutch never got along from the get-go. Things only got worse when Dutch killed Colm’s brother and then Colm turned around and killed Annabelle. The rivalry between them managed to drag their gangs into the mess. That meant some of them were fighting an enemy they didn’t have a quarrel with. Or that applied to Arthur, at least.

Micah pointed out who all they were fighting, on the way to the meetup. Dutch was eerily silent. The man on the black horse, leading, explained that getting the O’Driscolls off their back could make dealing with everyone else—the Pinkertons, crazy local hillbillies, Leviticus Cornwall—a whole lot easier.

“There is wisdom in that,” Dutch grunted.

Then Micah started explaining the plan and did his best to make it sound grand, despite its simplicity. He and Dutch were the ones going into the lion’s den while Arthur will perch somewhere to watch their backs. That was something Arthur could do, it was in his language to do the work with guns. Micah may not be the best face to accompany Dutch but Colm would recognize Arthur and that could make the situation tense. He was fine sticking with his guns and being on watch.

Then when Dutch complimented Arthur, gave him some words to boost the younger man’s confidence, Micah decided to pipe in. _Micah_ trusted Arthur enough that he would walk into hell itself, too, if he had Arthur to watch his back. Arthur appreciated Dutch’s words but Micah’s input nearly made them worthless.

As they neared the Heartlands, they spotted about five O’Driscolls on a ridge ahead. They slowed the horses and Arthur’s nerves spiked again.

“I don’t like havin’ eyes on us…” he grumbled.

“We’re close. You’ll be the eyes soon enough,” Micah assured confidently.

They rode on just a bit more. Micah spouted some shit about caring too much, Dutch took the shitty bait into giving a pep talk. Then they stopped for one last chat to decide where they’ll meet up once the meeting was over. Back at the fork in the road. They’ll have to make sure they’re careful and not followed back to camp.

Arthur rode up onto the plateau and followed the ledge until he came to a spot overlooking where the men were going to meet. He hopped off Greymore, keeping her back from the edge, and crouched near the cliff with his binoculars in hand. Dutch and Micah were calmly making their way into the open. A few moments later and three O’Driscolls were coming down in the opposite direction. Colm was at the front with two no-names on either side of him. Arthur put his binoculars away and pulled out his scoped rifle to watch and be ready to pull the trigger in an emergency.

Dutch looked stiff as they chatted and Micah thankfully looked to keep his mouth shut the entire time. Only Dutch and Colm did the talking, it appeared. Colm’s men behind him held their rifles in their hands but it was the same gesture as Micah standing with his hands on his holstered pistols. If Arthur would have to shoot Colm, he hoped Micah would be able to draw fast enough so Dutch wouldn't have to worry about being vulnerable.

Micah was right with his idea of cutting down the number of enemies they have on their backs but Arthur didn’t support how he had delivered his words. Striking a truce with Colm could make their lives much easier. There was always a chance that O’Driscolls with leftover venom could try to cause trouble but that was short work compared to taking them apart by cutting off the head.

There was a crack of rock behind Arthur. He lowered his rifle and spun around as the sound of feet rushed him. He got the stock of a rifle knocked against his skull just before things turned black.

It wasn’t too long before he woke up. He was no longer at his perch in the Heartlands. There were some trees behind the three O’Driscolls looming over him. Partial chance he was still in the Heartlands, though, since there was still daylight. Not like it mattered much. He had about five full seconds of peace and then the O’Driscolls decided to kick and stomp him back to unconsciousness.

The next moment he was on his side in an O’Driscoll camp. The fellers… they were talking about him… using him as bait to draw the others in. His capture would lure in the Van der Linde gang and then the O’Driscolls would turn them in to the authorities.

Arthur was in pain but the indignant noise he let out was more because of shock. He struggled to get his body under control as he shifted from the ground to his feet. He had to get back to camp, had to get himself free so no one would come to rescue him. His feet weren’t steady under him but they were stable enough to get him started up the hill. If he’s quiet enough…

“He’s escaping! Shoot him!”

“Relax, relax… I got him…”

There was a gunshot and Arthur felt something rip through his shoulder. It took away his breath, leaving no room for a cry or pain or anything, and he fell over into his back. That was not to say it didn’t hurt. It hurt like hell but it wasn’t his first gunshot wound and the other aches in his body were also distracting.

“Did I kill ya?”

Arthur stared up at the sky. He gritted through his teeth, “Oh, not yet.”

“No, of course not. Not yet, but I will.”

There was an unmistakable click of a gun. It was of the one that Arthur vaguely knew pressed into his shoulder. He shifted uncomfortably under all the men, hearing them laugh. The gun finally went off and he was plunged back into darkness.

There were only two more instances when Arthur was jostled awake. He was on thrown over the back of a horse and they were in the middle of crossing shallow water. Where he must have been shot throbbed with pain. It didn’t help that the pressure of his position added to it. The only light of the situation was that it was enough to send him back over the edge. He woke again, briefly, when it was dark and they arrived at their destination.

The blackness was comforting, compared to the hell he would be in if awake. So when his refuge was chased away by the cellar doors opening, he felt himself get queasy. Colm stood at the top of the stairs. He had a plate of food in one hand and lantern in the other as he slowly descended. Arthur was hanging upside down and all he did was focus on breathing to lessen the pain. There was no way to fight back, especially not with how useless his arm was. He’ll be at Colm’s mercy.

Colm was not Arthur’s fight. He didn’t want to be wrapped up in all this. The conflict between gangs should have stayed a rivalry between Colm and Dutch only. Everyone else getting dragged in resulted in people fighting without cause and just for the hell of it. Some of the O’Driscolls probably didn’t even know that they fought the Van der Linde gang was because of a killing and then a revenge killing.

“Arthur Morgan. It’s good to see ya,” the O’Driscoll greeted.

“Hello, Colm…” Arthur coughed, or attempted to without jostling his body, to clear the spit and gunk from his throat.

“How’s the wound?”

“I hardly feel it.” Big lie. It hurt like a bitch, it throbbed with his pulse and turned his arm numb.

“You will…” Colm aimed the spoon in his hand toward Arthur’s wounded shoulder. It took too much strength, having to use both arms, to push the offending object away. “Septic, it ain’t nice.”

Colm offered Arthur a spot in his gang, to make actual money. When Arthur rejected, he got a heeled kick to his ribs right near his wound. It made his head spin.

The ground was set. Colm went to explain his plans… capture Arthur to lure in an angry Dutch and co. and then turn them all in. Just as those O’Driscolls at the camp were saying. Except Colm thought his gang would then be able to slip free. Little did he know that the law there wasn’t as forgiving like that. It was stupid but sound. They only met up because Colm knew Dutch would have his best gun, Arthur, hidden to watch his back.

“Oh, Arthur, I missed you,” Colm purred. He set aside his meal to take out a revolver and hit Arthur solidly in the ribs a few times before he retreated back up the stairs.

With the peace, Arthur slipped into that comfortable black haze. He only woke once during the following day and it was too brief for anything. He just knew that he was too hot. Later in the night, however, he completely woke up.

A candle was lit on the desk to his right and on the other desk was a metal file. It took some effort but Arthur had swung side to side until he was able to reach the file with his good arm; which happened to be his right and the file was on his left… To say the least, the ground was eager to meet him when he got himself free.

The wound had to be closed. It didn’t matter that it was still dirty and probably full of bullet fragments, it still bled. His red union suit was ruined now, from the bullet hole and now blood having soaked around that and going up his arm. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He held the file over the candle flame until it was warm and he stuck it in the wound. Next he opened the shotgun shell to put gunpowder on it. Finally it was time for the candle to cauterize. It was more painful than sticking the file in himself, he actually let a noise slip from between his teeth.

There was no time to tend to the wound any further. The cellar doors opened and the sound of two talking O’Driscolls flooded down. Arthur leaped from the seat at the desk to hide around the corner. Only one O’Driscoll came down the stairs. As soon as he saw Arthur wasn’t chained up, Arthur erupted from the shadows and killed him swiftly. He took the pouch of throwing knives in the man’s pocket before silently climbing the stairs.

There were three more O’Driscolls about. They were the ones who captured Arthur. He made sure to kill them for repayment.

Greymore was hitched with the O’Driscoll horses. She would have sold for a good price if the O’Driscolls had their way with their plans. She was thankfully all saddled up. After Arthur grabbed his equipment, he barely pulled himself into the saddle with one arm and got the mare going. She’d be easy to spot in the night but if they escape quick enough…

Arthur kept them away from the O’Driscolls. He was sure of it. Same as he was sure the black on the edges of his vision would overtake him soon.

“Come on, girl, get us home…” he pleaded with his horse just before he slumped over her neck and let the darkness consume him.

He went through spells of consciousness and unconsciousness. The Heartlands passed by quickly. Greymore had a good sense of where to go, hardly needed any guidance. Arthur wouldn’t have been any help. Even when he was able to sit up in the saddle, he didn’t know _where_ they were. He just hoped Greymore got them to the right place.

The mare stopped suddenly. Arthur’s eyes drifted open to see they were at camp. His head swam and his limbs didn’t want to cooperate. Trying to get out of the saddle resulted in him landing on his back in the grass. Knocked the breath that he didn’t have out of his chest. Made his ribs throb from the beating they received. His shoulder never stopped hurting.

Mary-Beth was suddenly in his vision, same as Karen and then Dutch. They all said his name and looked down at him with concern.

Arthur clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. “I told you it was a setup, Dutch…” He could feel himself slipping again so he forced his eyes open. The stars sparkled so beautifully in the sky…

“My boy… my dear boy, what?” Dutch’s voice shook.

“They got me… but I-I got away.” The younger man’s eyes drifted closed when Dutch knelt to him. A _cold_ hand was pressed to his _burning_ forehead while the other carefully brushed around the mess on his shoulder.

“Yeah, that you did.” Things turned fuzzy again. Dutch was calling some of the members for help… He called for Miss Grimshaw and Swanson…

Dutch’s raised voice only aggravated Arthur. He didn’t need people shouting above him. And then Dutch got his hands under Arthur’s shoulders to lift him.

“He was gonna set the law on us…” Arthur ground out. Those hands lifted him so he was sitting up. It reignited the pain all throughout his torso. He panted to regain his breath.

“Oh, of course he was,” Dutch huffed. His voice sounded strained. Funny, Arthur didn’t think he weighed _that_ much.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Pearson said from somewhere. Guilt tinged his voice.

“It is a bit late for apologies,” Dutch snapped, “Swanson!”

There were too many hands on Arthur. Karen and Mary-Beth were at his sides, putting their hands on his arm. Dutch’s hand kept brushing against the back of his neck. A solid hand sat on his right shoulder. And then they were so frantic and talking over each other… Swanson promised that Arthur was safe, Grimshaw ordered to put him to bed. Yet their voices, soft from airiness, lulled the headache resting angrily between his temples.

The person at his right shoulder slung his arm around their own shoulders and used their strength to pull him up. Arthur groaned in protest, letting himself get puppeted around. Dutch kept him up by cupping his other arm carefully, he also promised that Arthur was safe. The enforcer willed his legs to work as much as he could muster at the same time his vision darkened, too.

“That’s pretty, Dutch… that’s real pretty…” Arthur sighed. He cracked his eyes open. Turned out it was Charles who helped carry him over. His brown eyes were intense as they stared down the man on the cot.

Dutch frowned. He turned away to say something to Swanson, said something to Charles and put a hand on his shoulder, then said something about checking back in later. Things turned black for a moment so Arthur didn’t get to see where he went.

Sadie was there when Arthur’s eyes slid open once again. She was standing over him with an odd knife in her hand. The day was a bit lighter… they pulled the top of his union suit down off his shoulders… 

“... need to open it back up to clean out what he didn’t.” It was Swanson.

“Alright,” Sadie mumbled with a shrug. She turned so she was looking down at Arthur. She smiled tightly at him. “Sorry, buddy. Hold him for me, would ya, Charles?”

Charles appeared at the bottom of Arthur’s sight. “Yeah.”

Arthur tried to get his mouth to work to greet any of them but there was no point. His body was at least thankful for something soft to rest on. It was way too hot, but that was a second thought when Sadie suddenly leaned down and plunged the knife into his shoulder. It tore an uneven groan straight from his chest. Felt worse than when it actually happened. And Charles was there beside Sadie, carefully holding him down to not hurt him any further but also so he wouldn’t jostle Sadie as she worked.

It was enough pain to send Arthur right back over into unconsciousness. He heard Charles’ apologetic coos as he went under and dreamed of deer in golden meadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a decent amount of writing done because I got an hour of sleep one night last week. I'm already well into the next chapter, almost done actually. 
> 
> Also, I'm no medical professional but I don't think Arthur closing his wound back up like that was correct. I'm not saying he necessarily did it wrong... If you look when he gets back to camp, there's no exit wound, so that means there has to be something still in there, right? Go ahead and tell me that I'm false or incorrect (maybe even uneducated with that stuff because you'd be right. I'm not in the medical field for a reason) but it's a work of fiction, so, hey.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this chapter is the longest one yet. I _did_ say that Blessed are the Peacemakers is one of my favorite missions. But if you don't like it then you might at least like the end of the chapter. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

When Dutch and Micah returned, it was without Arthur. Upon questioning, Micah said that Arthur probably wandered off to do ‘some Arthur shit’ before he returned. Dutch agreed; he affirmed Arthur had a knack for getting distracted. According to both of them, and some input from Hosea, Arthur was likely to return during the time of sunset.

He didn’t.

Charles got off his shift of guarding at dawn the next day and Arthur still hadn’t shown. Things were quiet in the camp and no one seemed bothered that Arthur Morgan wasn’t around; wasn’t lugging around hay bales or doing some of the other chores. Considering that Dutch and Micah returned the day earlier, Arthur should have come back too. He never expressed a need to do anything else before he left the day before. He never even said goodbye to Charles, so that was a sign that meant he didn’t have plans to stay out late.

“Maybe something got in his britches,” Hosea suggested.

The older man had sat down to eat breakfast with Charles at the domino table. They didn’t have much to talk about but Hosea knew Charles was bothered by something so he made it his mission to find out. When Charles expressed his concerns for Arthur, he nodded his head in thought and then started his suggestions.

“But he’d come back…” Charles murmured. He shook then bowed his head. Whatever Pearson made at the crack of dawn for Charles, it tasted a lot like oatmeal. Didn’t look it but it sure tasted like it. “He’s made it a habit to find me if something’s bothering him…”

“I’d say give him until noon or supper. If he does have something to be guilty about, then he’ll let it fester for a while until he can’t stand it. That’s when he’ll return,” Hosea assured. He stood up to give Charles a friendly pat on the shoulder. “If he doesn’t return, come find me.”

So Charles waited. He decided to hold off until around supper time. Arthur has proven he doesn’t mind skipping breakfast and lunch but by the end of the day, he was always starving for supper. He’d eat about twice than his normal provisions if supper was his only meal of the day. But he didn’t show. Charles went to Hosea like he was told to. Hosea instructed Charles to head out the next day and search.

Charles was out of camp as soon as the sun could be seen through the trees. He followed the three-day-old tracks of Dutch, Arthur, and Micah to where they split off from each other. Arthur went up on the plateau. There, it was where Charles found the obvious clues something happened. Dirt and stones were strewn, along with a few droplets of blood. Multiple tracks led away from where it looked Arthur sat.

“Shit…” Charles breathed. It flew over Dutch’s and Micah’s heads that Arthur could have possibly been captured? He never returned with them and it was brushed off, saying that Arthur just needed time to himself. He needed time to himself after watching a meeting between Colm O’Driscoll and Dutch van der Linde? No, that was in and of itself strange.

Charles cursed to himself against and climbed onto Taima to follow the trail. It varied in direction and crossed popular roads more than once. It had him doubling back on more than one occasion. He even followed the wrong trail once, making him return to where he last saw the tracks and pick the ones he wanted to follow.

At night, Charles hesitantly decided to make camp. If he was too tired, then there was an even bigger chance of following the wrong trail again. His eyes were tired enough from staring at the same damn things all day. He knew that he was heading in somewhat of the right direction when he came across the land where an O’Driscoll camp must have sat.

Come morning, Charles followed the trail to the Dakota River, where he was finally defeated. He searched up and down the river banks on both sides and was unable to pick the trail back up. The water washed away the tracks that were right near where the O’Driscolls clearly entered. And tracks obviously don’t keep up through the water…

He arrived back in camp just after noon. Hosea greeted him lowly, eyes going to the empty spaces beside Charles.

“Arthur was taken by the O’Driscolls.”

Hosea sat straight and his eyes darkened. He threw the newspaper in his hands down on the table next to him before he stomped off to Dutch’s tent.

“Why didn’t you bother to check up on Arthur when he didn’t show?” Hosea demanded.

Dutch slammed the book he was reading from closed to look up with a grumpy expression. Molly wasn’t in the tent so he was either mad at her, Hosea, or both of them. “Because he’s a grown man. I don’t need to check up on him after everything like we used to.”

“Well maybe you should!” the oldest man barked. The other two men flinched slightly at the raised tone. “Charles left yesterday to find him and just returned to tell me that the O’Driscolls took him!”

“You sure Mr. Smith is correct? He may be our best tracker but everyone makes mistakes…” Micah came up from the back of Dutch’s tent like he was coming up from the shore of the lake.

Charles felt the hair on the back of his neck raise. He growled in a cool tone, “I’m damn sure.”

“I knew it was a goddamn trap, Dutch. But you didn’t listen!” Hosea spat.

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” Dutch growled. He sighed and turned to Charles. “Where is he?”

There, Charles felt the stress sap some of his energy. “Don’t know… I-I followed the tracks from where he sat, to an O’Driscoll camp, to the Dakota River. I lost them there.”

“West Elizabeth… See Hosea? Even if we were to go after them, us two could get snagged before we even reach him.”

“Oh, so you’ll just let the O’Driscolls have him!”

“That’s not what I meant!”

The air was heated between the four of them, specifically between Hosea and Dutch. Micah stood aside and stared Charles down with some venom of his own.

“So what?” Hosea asked, deathly quiet.

“Just… just give me some time to think. Please? Will you just give me some time to think of a plan to rescue our dear boy, my old friend?” Dutch pleaded gently.

Hosea’s top lip curled with menace. It was a new sight for Charles, to see the usually gentle old man filled with so much anger. “Tonight, Dutch. You better have some progress on a plan _tonight_.”

“Fine.”

The air was still tense, even after Hosea went to stand on the dock for hours and after Dutch closed the flaps to his tent to presumably think. That left Charles with nothing to do. He gave the information that he could, there wasn’t really anything he could do until Dutch came up with a plan or Hosea got tired of waiting and possibly sent Charles back out.

Night came and so did more arguing. Dutch didn’t have a proper plan which pissed Hosea off and Hosea’s anger pissed Dutch off. That just led to bickering until things finally settled down and people went to bed. Charles couldn’t. He stayed awake, tirelessly carving a deer out of a piece from a tree branch. Several hours passed before some woke from worries about Arthur that hung over the entire camp.

Arthur’s arrival during the transitioning hours of night to dawn caused a commotion. Charles heard the arrival of a horse and a thud. Mary-Beth and Karen were drawn over so he set aside his tools and approached alongside Dutch, who came from a different direction.

Arthur was clearly out of it. His breath was shallow and he stared at the sky with distracted eyes. “I told you it was a setup, Dutch…” It sounded like it was forced from his mouth as he spoke through his teeth.

“My boy… my dear boy, what?” Dutch asked. He knelt next to the younger man.

“They got me… but I-I got away.” Arthur’s eyes slid closed when Dutch put a hand on his forehead and his other on his shoulder just a few inches away from a fresh wound.

“Yeah, that you did.” The older man turned his body away to call for Grimshaw and Swanson. He then motioned to Charles for help just as Pearson was finally drawn in by the commotion. Hopefully, Jack was still asleep or, if not, with Abigail. He didn’t need to see this.

“He was gonna set the law on us,” Arthur definitely ground out between his teeth as Charles and Dutch lifted him so he sat upright.

“Oh, of course he was,” Dutch spat.

Pearson arrived. His immediate instinct was to step back. “I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Charles toned out Dutch, Swanson, and Grimshaw out as they continued on. He focused on how heat seemed to radiate off Arthur and how he panted as he sat up. His eyes were closed and his head was bowed. He made little noises as more people approached. It broke Charles’ heart, knowing Arthur had been tortured, by the looks, and he had to not only escape by himself, but got swarmed as soon as he returned.

“Let’s get him to bed…” Grimshaw instructed.

Charles slung Arthur’s good arm over his shoulder and lifted. He squeezed his eyes shut at the drawn-out groan of pain that came from Arthur while he lifted. The man went limp for a few good moments. With Dutch on the other side, Arthur was kept upright, but Charles still did most of the work dragging the injured man to his cot.

“You are safe now, Arthur… you’re safe now,” Dutch promised.

Charles carefully laid Arthur down on his cot before taking a step back. The man wheezed and smiled. His eyes opened a crack. “That’s pretty, Dutch… that’s real pretty.”

Dutch made a face. He wiped a hand down his face and turned to Swanson when the man scurried around him. “Take care of him, Swanson.”

“Of course,” the Reverend replied.

With that, Dutch left and Sadie replaced his position. “I want to help. I have experience.”

“I can handle this.” Swanson unbuttoned a few more of Arthur’s top union suit buttons and peeled the clothing off Arthur’s upper body. The injured man didn’t respond to that so it was safe to say he was out.

The woman snorted. “Your hands are shaking and I know what to do.”

Swanson stared her down before nodding suddenly. “Fine, then.” He got out some of his tools and put them on the table next to the cot. He handed over a thin knife and set some unused bandages on Arthur’s chest. “We need to open it back up to clean out what he didn’t.”

“Alright,” Sadie mumbled with a shrug. She turned so she was looking down at Arthur. “Sorry, buddy. Hold him for me, would ya, Charles?”

Charles stepped up beside her. “Yeah.” He noticed Arthur’s eyes on him and how his face relaxed. Probably didn’t know what was to come.

As soon as Sadie plunged the surgical knife into the raw wound, a ragged groan escaped from Arthur’s mouth and Charles had to hold down his weak limbs. Charles cooed to him softly, apologizing for the pain but assuring that it would be over soon. Arthur didn’t struggle for long before he passed out and Charles released his hold.

Sadie worked with surprising skill. She had the wound opened and plucking bullet fragments out. The blood on her fingers was shiny in the pale light. Charles had to look away. He didn’t want to see Arthur’s blood on her fingers, exposed since the wound was reopened. There was no escaping the sound, however, of Sadie expertly digging in. All Charles could focus on was that wet sound, Arthur’s shallow breaths, and the image of Arthur’s battered body. Those bright bruises on his ribs showed some of his torture and where some of his pain came from.

Swanson had left for a bit and came back with some morphine. He marked the injection later and set the morphine on the headboard made of crates. Charles didn’t watch. He listened when Swanson commented on Sadie’s work and when the wound got cauterized once more. The scent of burnt flesh sat heavily in his nose.

Charles didn’t move from his spot next to Arthur’s legs. Sadie sat on the only seat of Arthur’s tent as she cleaned her hands. Swanson had already packed up his tools and retreated.

“Where’d you learn that?” Charles wondered.

Sadier hummed, “My father-in-law was a doctor and taught me some things ‘fore we moved up to the mountains. He said he wanted us to know some things since it would just be us. Never know what could happen…”

“Well… thank you.”

Sadie smiled tightly. It was a true smile, just on the grimmer side. “Of course. He’s running a fever, though. Might want to get some cold cloths on him. Maybe get him changed outta… _that_.”

With some help, Sadie removed Arthur’s union suit while Charles held the man up. Arthur thankfully had his briefs on. The woman left to get a fresh bucket of water and some cloths while Charles dug out a thin sheet to drape over Arthur’s waist and down. Sadie delivered the supplies then left with a friendly _good luck._

Charles dipped one of the cloths in the bucket and wrung it out before he set it over Arthur’s burning forehead. He used another cloth to wipe off the blood that crusted to his skin. Arthur seemed to be burning up everywhere. The skin around his wound was as hot as his head. Charles decided to just wipe down the man’s entire upper body, dipping the cloth in the bucket multiple times in an attempt to cool him down.

Arthur looked peaceful when Charles finally sat back on the chair Sadie previously occupied. His face was lax and his breaths finally evened out to something more stable. The marks on his skin interrupted the faux peace, but Charles would take what was offered. Arthur will be in discomfort when he wakes, at the least if he gets some morphine. And with a fever as bad as it was, he most likely will not be all there.

Miss Grimshaw brought Charles’ whittling supplies, as requested, when she came near. She checked up on the two men, eyes lingering on Arthur before she gave Charles her full attention. She offered to sit next to Arthur for a while, to let Charles get some chores done. It definitely was more of an order than a suggestion. Despite Arthur’s condition, Charles still had to pull his own weight. The look that Susan gave him told him that it was only a temporary thing.

The first thing to do, Charles made sure of, was to take Greymore down to the lake to wash Arthur’s blood off her neck. She was calm about it, recognizing Charles and not minding the water too much. He was thankful for that, it made cleaning her off that much easier. Taima wasn’t a fan of baths so she had to be tied up and would still dance around to make it harder. It took a lot of scrubbing but the blood was eventually washed off.

Next, Charles completed the chores that Arthur usually took upon himself to complete. He carried hay bales over to the horses, delivered some of the provisional sacks to Pearson’s wagon, and topped off the washing basins. There were enough other men to take over Charles’ guard shifts. Besides, he has done enough time guarding, someone else can pick up the pace.

Taima was happy to see him. She got a treat, along with Cheshire and Greymore. Arthur’s two horses were also glad to see him but he had a feeling they would rather be getting attention from their owner. After all, their owner had such a soft spot for them, they always got more than a single treat each.

Before returning to Arthur’s bedside, Charles grabbed himself some snacks, a can of peaches, a spork, and another fresh bucket of water. Arthur will need food and water the next time he wakes. Lord knows he’d need it.

Susan left the tent with a plain smile when Charles returned. Arthur was still sound asleep, which was reasonable enough. Charles had been gone for a little over two hours and Arthur’s body went through enough in the past few days to warrant a rest. But it also needed some food and definitely water soon.

Charles ate some of the snacks slowly as he began to continue whittling the deer. It kept his hands and mind busy. He occasionally took breaks to rewet the cloth on Arthur’s forehead and to wipe off his chest with the additional cloth.

The sun was starting to set, causing the lake to look like it was on fire, when Arthur started making noise. His breathing started to speed up, which first signaled him waking up. Next came little grunts and other noises until his eyes finally opened and were squinting blearily at Charles. He definitely wasn’t with it, his eyes slid back closed without ever acknowledging Charles.

“Hey, cowboy,” Charles murmured. He slipped from his seat to kneel next to the cot. He rested a hand on Arthur’s too-warm injured shoulder. Arthur’s eyes blinked open to look at him. “How ‘bout some food? If not that, then drink some water for me.”

He thought Arthur was just going to try to get back to sleep, judging by the blank stare. Instead, the man started to sit up on his own. His breath shortened as soon as he started to move so Charles helped him sit up completely and quickly turned to get the syringe of morphine. His eyes stayed on the little amount that Swanson left. He had his addiction to feed so he didn’t want to part with much. That just meant Charles would have to ration it unless someone went out to buy some more. Charles took the syringe and injected a decent dosage like he has seen Swanson do to himself.

It took some time for Arthur to relax. When he did, Charles helped him drink a few cups of water and multiple slices of the canned peaches before he started falling asleep again. It was easy enough to return him to his back.

“How is he?” Hosea asked. He came by about five minutes later, tossing something wrapped up in a grey paper toward the only other conscious man in the tent.

Charles was caught off guard but he didn’t miss whatever was thrown at him. He began to open the package and said, “Good. Feverish, but he woke up a bit ago to drink and ate a few slices of peaches. In pain, without morphine, by the looks.” Four frosted sugar cookies were wrapped up in the paper.

Hosea waved off the confused look sent his way. “Say it’s a little thank you for watching him. He can’t properly thank you at the moment so I will with this.”

“Well… thank you,” Charles murmured.

The older man stared at him calmly for a few strong moments. A sneaky smile grew on his face. “I’ll go get your bedroll for you.”

There was no time to argue with the older man, he was already walking back to his tent to pick up a certain bedroll. Lenny was sitting on his own bedding when Hosea came by and quizzically looked over to Arthur’s tent then back at Hosea. The kid was smart, there was no way he would be unable to put enough together. Although not like it was anything important. Charles was just going to be sleeping in Arthur’s tent until his fever breaks.

Hosea returned with Charles’ bedroll and wished him goodnight.

Charles wiped off Arthur’s chest and replaced the cloth on his forehead once more before he settled on the ground in his bedroll and fell asleep. He dreamed of nothing much but birds singing in trees overhead. They never quieted down until he was suddenly at the end of the trail he had been walking on. Arthur stood there, grumbling to himself. When he turned, there was blood flowing freely from his shoulder wound and a few specks of blood on the corner of his mouth. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. He closed it and tried again, this time making a loud groan.

Arthur had actually been making noises in his sleep, pained by the sound of it. Charles sat up, pushing his bedroll under the cot, to get a look at Arthur. As sweaty as before and still asleep, face scrunched with whatever plagued his dreams.

“Arthur, Arthur…” Charles hushed. He cupped Arthur’s jaw with both of his hands. It seemed to calm the man, but only for a few moments before blue-green eyes flew open and hands messily wrapped around Charles’ wrists. Just one look in those tearful eyes told that Arthur’s mind was still muddled with fever.

“The barn…” Arthur breathed. His unfocused eyes stared straight through Charles. It was concerning… “It’s…” He sighed and went lax.

“Do you want some more morphine?” There were a few more dosages left. It would be best if they were saved for when the pain wasn’t dulled by fever but if Arthur was in pain…

“I want a bath… with bubbles,” Arthur groaned.

“There’s the lake. Can’t do bubbles with that but I can probably convince Miss Grimshaw to part with some of the nice soap, just for you.”

The injured man blinked slowly. A grin spread on his face to show his teeth. “Sounds nice. Be even better if you’d join me.”

Charles sighed. “Don’t know who else would sit out there with you…”

Arthur seemed to miss the comment. They let go of each other so Charles could go persuade Susan for a bar of some of the nicer soap everyone knew she had. Because it was for Arthur, she parted with it easily. Charles thanked her and returned to his partner to move him to the lake.

It took an injection of morphine before Arthur was fit to move. Before it all kicked it, he was panting and softly grunting and leaned heavily against Charles. Charles situated Arthur in the camp’s new boat before going back to get the supplies for a bath. When he returned to the boat, Arthur was giving him an odd look.

“We’re heading out to those islands. Gives us some privacy without going too far,” Charles explained and added as a mutter, “easier than getting you on a horse or just walking down the shore…”

Arthur sat across from Charles, who rowed. He looked goofy, cradling his ribs and shivering in the warm weather with only briefs to cover him. A smile was back on his face; it made him look tired and at peace all at the same time. The lake water will feel good on his heated skin. The perfect opportunity to wash away days worth of grime, the fresh sweat, and any possible blood Charles missed the day before.

Charles rowed them to the opposite side of the largest island and pulled the boat ashore. He helped Arthur out of the boat and grabbed the supplies before they moved much further. Arthur was drawn to the water like a moth to a flame. Charles missed the removal of briefs; Arthur was suddenly in the water, head only visible.

They didn’t take a long time cleaning up. Once Charles joined Arthur, they took care in washing each other’s upper bodies. Everything from the waist below was personal. The company was enjoyable, though, and Arthur looked comfortable despite the angered skin on his shoulder.

~*~

“You’d like him. Everyone said they hated him but no one could never hate him…”

“Who we talking about?”

“Copper. I used to take baths with him, when I was much younger. Saved water and we killed two birds with one stone. Made a stinky dog smell better and made a boy covered in mud look like a boy again.” Arthur huffed.

Charles stared at the man who had just woken from his doze again. His eyes then drifted up to the pictures hanging on the side of the wagon. The dog must have been Copper. A dark-colored lab with innocent eyes. Yeah, he could see how the dog could have been troublesome. Probably took after his owner.

“Arthur…” Dutch’s voice interrupted Charles’ thoughts. The man stood outside of the tent. He nodded to Charles, who had his chair pulled up right beside Arthur’s cot. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit but I’ll be shootin’ in a week, you can count on that,” Arthur murmured. He didn’t move his eyes from the braid Charles had been weaving with thick strings. His eyelids were clearly heavy, and with how long he already watched, it was surprising he wasn’t out yet.

“Oh, my boy, give yourself time to rest. You put yourself through so much and I am so sorry you did…”

Arthur closed his eyes. “Ain’t nothin’, I’ll be shootin’ in a week…”

Dutch sighed, apologized again, then left once more. Arthur opened his eyes back up. The tricky fool had been pretending to fake some of his exhaustion. Charles didn’t blame him.

“You may not be sleeping all day in a week but you _will_ still be resting.” The look that Charles received was doubtful so he returned it. “I’m serious, Arthur. You got shot. It will take time until you can actually use your arm without pain. That, and it’s obvious that the rest of your body took a beating, too. Your ribs, specifically.”

“Can never have any fun…” Arthur grumbled.

“Nope, not when you need to heal,” Charles teased. He ignored Arthur’s protest about coddling when he put a new wet cloth on his forehead. When Charles was sure the injured man wasn’t going to remove it, he got up and patted Arthur’s shoulder. “If you can find a way to sit up without help while I get us stew, then maybe I’ll take you seriously.”

It wasn’t hard to miss the determined look on Arthur’s face when Charles left. And when Charles returned, he made progress but it wasn’t to the extent that Charles accepted.

Charles helped Arthur sit with his back to the wagon and sat next to him on the cot while they ate. Arthur’s body was still too warm next to him but the fact that he was conscious was great. He’s going to be testing everyone with his stubbornness while he’s recovering, Charles could already see it.

“Ain’t fair…” Arthur mumbled.

Charles sighed into his bowl. He didn’t know if he should start wishing Arthur had another full day of fever. “How?”

“I gotta spend weeks in camp, doin’ nothin’... bein’ fuckin’ worthless…”

So there was some of the baggage that Arthur carried with him. Dutch’s ruthless enforcer has self-image issues. Self-deprecating words gave him away.

Charles turned to Arthur. He got a dirty look, the man knew he was going to get a talking to. Like a child who knew they were in trouble.

“Arthur.”

“Charles…”

“It’s two weeks, at the least. Once you can walk without doubling over in pain, you can roam wherever in the camp. I’m sure Pearson wouldn’t mind help cooking meals and the ladies could always use someone new to gossip to,” Charles sighed.

“I don’t do that shit…” Arthur grumbled around a spoonful of stew.

“Then play with Jack.”

The shorter man sighed and shook his head. “I’ll figure it out…”

Charles took their bowls to go get washed up when they finished eating. Night had taken the remainder of the daylight so it felt safe enough to kiss Arthur deeply before they both settled before bed.

~*~

Two weeks passed before Arthur was able to roam around camp without someone shadowing him. Two weeks of laying around with nothing to do but prepare for when he could finally leave and for when he could finally shoot a gun. Charles did his best to spend as much time as possible with him but he had chores to do. At least when he was on guard duty or taking care of Taima, Cheshire, and Greymore, Arthur was able to hang around with him.

One morning, Charles came to Arthur, who had just awoken. “When did you plan to teach me to fish?”

Arthur looked up at him, confusion was written all over his tired face.

“When we went noodling, you said you’d teach me how to also fish with a pole,” Charles explained.

“Oh… well, I’ve been free,” Arthur murmured. He got up from his cot stiffly, grabbing a random pair of dark pants and fixed them up with some suspenders. He skipped socks and went straight for his fancier boots, the ones that had heels on them that nearly had him at the same height as Charles.

“All good?”

“Definitely.”

They headed to the horses and saddled them up. Charles let Arthur do things on his own, just in case if the man was still feeling sore so he could lick his wounds in momentary peace. Apparently it was enough time because he was up on Cheshire before Charles was on Taima. He obviously wanted to get out of camp, after not being able to go out on his own accord before he got injured. Couldn’t blame Arthur for any of his enthusiasm.

Arthur decided where they were going to fish, since he knew more about fishing than Charles. They followed the shore of the lake south until the camp was no longer in sight. They were going far enough to have time to enjoy the ride. Possibly Arthur’s intentions, whether purposeful or not. It gave Charles time to study the rider in front of him, he knew that. The new black union suit hugged his frame to show his wider upper body and thin hips. It made his eyes stand out when he looked at Charles first thing in the morning. Made him match some of Cheshire’s coloring.

“Kieran talked about a massive bluegill rumored to be somewhere ‘round here,” Arthur said lowly. He brought them to a stop on a little peninsula, opposite side of the little cove where their camp sat. “That’d be an amazin’ first catch for you.”

“I’d rather stick with a regular sized one, to be truthful,” Charles admitted. “Leave the bigger ones to the people who are looking for them…”

Arthur shrugged. He pulled a folded rod from his saddlebag to give to Charles and took his own out from his satchel. He made sure to put his together in front of Charles so he knew how to do the same. Arthur’s rod was clearly more used and actually built for his size; a bright, fancy lure was at the end of the line. The rod in Charles’ hand was a bit smaller, didn’t feel sturdy, and it appeared to be older; there was a simple bobber on it.

“I got some bait for you,” Arthur started. He set his pole aside to rummage through his satchel. “You’re gonna cast out. When you feel somethin’ tug, you gotta jerk the pole to snag the fish. Once you’ve got it hooked, you just gotta reel it in… don’t reel when it’s fightin’. You tire it out, _that’s_ when you reel it in…” He found some old bread chunks and handed them to Charles. “Stick that on there an’ just wait. I’m gonna be reelin’ because I have a lure but the most you’ll need to do if you’ve caught nothin’ is lightly jerk the pole to get the fish’s attention.”

“You sure know what you’re talking about,” Charles mused.

“Taught by the legend, Hosea, himself…” Arthur chuckled. He shook his head as he cast his line far out. “Now show me what you got, Mr. Smith.”

Charles did as he was told. Arthur cast out first so Charles copied the motion, keeping the other instructions in mind. He watched his bobber calmly and listened to Arthur reeling slowly. It was nice—not quite something Charles would have chosen to learn if not for mostly Arthur—but there was an appeal to it. Time spent not reeling in a fish could be used for thinking.

“Gotcha…” Arthur growled to himself. He had something hooked. Could very well be that bluegill he talked about.

There was a fish nibbling at Charles’ bait not long after. He waited until the white disappeared on the bobber to jerk his pole. Tension on the line, like Arthur’s, was enough indication that he got a fish. He was mindful of line. It probably wasn’t as reliable as Arthur’s if it was older. So he felt the fish fighting him and waited until things smoothened out before cautiously reeling in.

“Looks like I can make a fisherman outta you,” Arthur commented when Charles held up his catch.

Charles caught a few more after and Arthur ended up catching the legendary bluegill. He had Charles wrap it up and store it in a saddlebag on Cheshire while he prepared the other caught fish. Merely just cutting the meat off for a possible snack now or stew ingredient for Pearson later. They both cut into the fish and decided to wrap them up and set them aside for the time being. Arthur cozied up next to Charles, clearly enjoying time out of camp; and with Charles nonetheless.

“Thank you, for takin’ care of me,” Arthur said softly.

“Don’t know why I wouldn’t,” Charles replied with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t think anyone else really wanted to deal with you when all you would do is pester.”

“I did not…”

“Says the one who pestered.”

Arthur turned to look at him with disbelief. It was playful, Charles recognized, but he was able to identify some other spark in his eyes. Fake shock? Quite possible. What mattered was the playfulness, because that was supported by Arthur shifting so he could climb onto Charles’ lap.

“I think you’re just sayin’ things to get a reaction from me.” He set his fingers on the other man’s jawline.

“I don’t need to speak to get a reaction from you.”

Charles closed the waiting distance between their lips. The spark in Arthur’s eyes transferred to his lips, which was clear as day as he pushed into the kiss excitedly. To test the waters, the younger man rolled his hips upwards, getting rewarded with a breathless moan. He pushed farther by putting his hands on Arthur rear and squeezing.

Arthur broke away, breathless. His face was already bright red. One would think he was catching a fever again, if not for the rest of the situation.

“Fuck, Charles…”

“One step at a time?” Charles asked.

Confusion entered the range of emotions on Arthur’s face. After a few seconds of thinking, he nodded.

Charles attached his lips to Arthur’s neck and grazed his teeth across the soft skin. The man whined as he sought friction against his groin. He managed that perfectly against the darker man below him. The feeling elicited a moan from Charles as he returned the motion and moved to kiss behind Arthur’s ear.

“ _Charles_ …”

Who would ever think that Arthur was sensitive behind his ears? Big bad Arthur Morgan turned to mush with the right administrations.

Deft fingers made quick work of the front of Arthur’s two layers. Milky skin, untouched by the sun, was exposed. The semi-dark curls from his chest and down were stark. Charles ran his fingers through the hair to spread the opening in the clothing. The bottom-most layer was the union suit; meaning as he worked his way down, his hand came to nudge then close around Arthur’s waiting length.

Arthur shuddered. It drew him from the haze that Charles sent him into. In turn, he unbuttoned Charles’ pants to repay the favor. He made good progress but clearly didn’t want to maneuver around the briefs Charles wore beneath his pants because he slipped his hand under the waistband of the briefs to grab Charles.

Charles didn’t want some of their clothes in the way. He took it upon himself to throw his shirt off and slip his pants off his hips. They had their limits, however, because they both had their pants only pushed out of the way. But you take what you can get, Charles has learned in the past. He grabbed both of their hardening cocks in one hand and began to pump slowly.

“Holy fuckin’ _shit_ …” Arthur breathed. He bucked his hips involuntarily. After that his little moment of lacking control, he wrapped his arms around Charles’ neck to bring them closer and connected their lips once more. His breaths were short, hot little puffs on Charles’ face. To hear him so breathy was all the more reason to start to speed up the pace.

The noises that Arthur made were quiet and cut off, saved only for moments like this. While they shouldn’t be making a lot of noise just in case if any of it would carry, Charles wanted to draw out as much as he could from the man. That was why when they had to separate for some air, he went to mouth at the corners of Arthur’s jaw and went from there to behind his ears. He absolutely loved that he was so sensitive there.

“You’re torturin’ me, aren’t you?” Arthur huffed.

Charles bit the lobe of the ear he had been nosing behind and squeezed his busy hand. “Wasn’t the original goal but I am enjoying it.”

“Yeah? I bet you are…” An increase of speed had Arthur biting his lip. He smirked suddenly and pressed their foreheads together. “Fuck… been a while, don’t know how long I’ll actually last.”

Charles chuckled, one of those sounds deep in his chest that he knew Arthur enjoyed. “All the reason to hurry up so we can build your endurance back up.”

Arthur made a noise very close to a moan. He buried his face in the crook of Charles’ neck and melted against the solid body.

Charles focused on the little noises the man continued to make as he stroked their cocks together faster. He was getting near, too, if he had to admit. Arthur got most of the attention but all the noises he made were enough of a reward that wound Charles up. With the added pressure and speed, heat began to build up in his gut faster. And then when Arthur brought his own hand down there to lightly thumb at both of their tips, that added another level of sensation.

“O-ho, Arthur,” Charles rumbled.

Arthur shuddered. His hips stuttered and the barest of a whine came from his throat. A broken version of Charles’ name escaped from his lips as he came. Charles kept pumping his fist, to help himself finish but also to get everything out of Arthur. With a bit more speed and lubrication from Arthur, Charles came soon after.

They sat slumped in the same position. The only difference was that Arthur was cradling his ribs with his arms and clearly in pain as he breathed. Charles snapped out of his afterglow to get Arthur off his lap and leaning up against a tree.

“I’m fine, I’m fine… ribs are just a bit tender still,” Arthur assured with half a wave of his hand.

“Stay there, I’ll clean us up,” Charles murmured. He planted a gentle kiss on Arthur’s forehead and headed over to Taima to pull an old cloth out of his saddlebags. He visited the water’s edge to wet the material before returning to Arthur’s side to clean them both up. The cloth was dipped back into the water afterward; no point in disposing of it when it could be used again in the future.

Arthur still had his arms wrapped around himself when Charles sat next to him and tucked him back into his clothing. He looked at Charles lovingly and leaned against him when the bigger man sat next to him.

“This cure some of your pent-up energy?” Charles asked.

There was a sigh that sounded pretty content. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Charles’ chest felt warm. He smiled to himself. One step at a time. He had a feeling those steps would be very rushed, large, but sure and sturdy with Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Finding out that the spork was first manufactured in the 19th century made me so much happier than it should have. Also, I have a headcanon that Arthur is shorter than what we actually see. Not by much, but he wears those fancy quickdraw boots because the heels on them give him at least an inch.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry? Lost a lot of motivation, went through some moods, but I'm back at it again. Though I am no longer a chapter ahead...
> 
> Ah, well. We are almost to Shady Belle. I know what I want so it won't be hard to start working ahead again.

Three weeks. That was how long it took after Arthur’s capture for him to be able to shoot a gun. Three miserable weeks of being trapped in camp and unable to do any of his usual chores that brought him comfort and made him feel useful. Instead, he sat around for the first week and a half unable to do anything because his wound and ribs were so tender. Somewhere near half a week later was when he and Charles went fishing with each other…

Some of the other gang members, if they interacted with him, handled him like an expensive vase. Dutch apologized profusely throughout the weeks and Pearson eventually gathered enough courage to approach the tent one night, when Arthur and Charles were sitting on the cot together, to apologize. Hosea made stops when Arthur was still stuck in bed to check in on him. Sadie made sure to make an appearance once, teasing that she was only checking to make sure her work held up but left with a genuine get better.

When Arthur was finally fit enough to walk around camp and do simple chores, Jack opened up to him. He offered his toy soldiers and squealed with happiness when Arthur accepted the invitation to play. Poor boy didn’t have any other kids his age to play with and some of the responsible to reasonably-responsible adults didn’t have time to play with him. He at least had that stray dog for company when no one gave him attention. Cain. Reminded Arthur somewhat of Copper.

Charles did his best to give Arthur things to do. He let the man accompany him when it was time to take care of the horses. Greymore and Cheshire were happy to see their rider the first day Arthur came along. They got fed treat after treat until Arthur’s pockets were empty. Even after that, they caged him in as he switched between brushing them. They finally allowed him to leave for guard duty with Charles when they got treats out of Charles, too.

“You spoil them too much,” Charles had teased.

Arthur had sighed, a content smile on his face. “I know, but they’re happy.”

It may not have been smart, but Charles allowed Arthur to go on guard duty with him. They never had problems with any wanderers or intruders before but there was always a first for everything. That was why Charles showed hesitation in Arthur being there, especially since he didn’t have a gun. Arthur wanted a gun, something in his hands instead of his closed journal. He had grown tired of drawing the same things. There were three sketches of Charles’ back, so many sketches of birds, a very clear drawing of the morphine syringe, and a few other things that weren’t as clean. Previous sketches, from when he wasn’t allowed to leave the bed, started out nice until he got too antsy and was unable to draw _anything_. There was even less to look at there.

But after three weeks, Charles had brought it up to Hosea and Dutch and they talked to Swanson. There was a little checkup since Swanson was the closest they had to a doctor. He pushed on Arthur’s ribs and checked the dark scar on a pale shoulder. All looked as good as it was going to get, according to him. Arthur had been waiting to hear something along those lines ever since he got over his fever.

Hosea and Dutch talked in that evening and decided to give Arthur a few more days of rest. It angered the enforcer, at first, before it was explained to him that he had a few days to do whatever he wanted. His two elders weren’t saying that he had a few more days of hanging out in camp. They were saying that he was free to finally leave camp, go out for a ride, go hunt. All alone, he didn’t have to have a shadow or stay a certain distance within range of camp. He could go back up to the Grizzlies, for all his two elders cared.

Arthur didn’t know what he wanted to do. He just knew he wanted to get out of camp.

He and Charles took up guard duty that night. Their shift ended in the morning so Pearson made them breakfast as his way of saying thanks. That was how people were convinced to do night shifts, Pearson making them breakfast.

They sat at the poker table, eating quietly. All Arthur could think about was getting out of camp. What to do, what to do… he couldn’t decide. He wanted to get out of camp and bring Charles with him somewhere. Hell, the idea of going up to the Grizzlies _just because he could_ was so tempting. It would be cold but he had the necessary attire for it. Cheshire wouldn’t like it but Greymore may since she was found there.

However, his ecstatic thoughts were put to a halt when Micah’s voice rang out in too close of proximity. Racist words aimed at Charles, ordering the man to get him some oatmeal. How stupid was he, to be insulting Dutch’s enforcer’s partner, when the enforcer was sitting right there? Apparently very stupid. Micah’s head was stuck so far up his ass, he missed the moment Arthur shot up from his seat. That also meant that he never saw the fist coming and didn’t see anything until Arthur was being held back by Charles.

Rage burned bright in Arthur’s gut at the slur echoing in his head. He snarled and thrashed in Charles’ arms. Didn’t the man want him free so he could rightfully put Micah in his place? One punch sent that man to the ground, it had taken another to wipe the shock off his face, and then the third punch was when the pain was visible. It wouldn’t take many more to knock him out.

Voices were raised around the area as more people came close to separate the men. Micah was helped up but he showed no signs of fighting back. His lip was split and bleeding brightly. Not trying to fight more, like Arthur, showed that he had some sense. He knew he would be beaten.

Dutch was attracted to the scene soon enough. It wasn’t hard to understand that Arthur threw the punch but he thankfully knew Arthur only attacked if he had reasons. Or Arthur hoped Dutch knew. There was that traitor in the past that he killed, but there was the point. He killed the traitor because they were, well, a _traitor_. He showed restraint dealing with them until they betrayed the gang and he has shown restraint dealing with Micah.

Charles still held Arthur back as he calmly explained what had happened. His voice was emotionless, making himself seem unfazed by the word that Micah used on him. Hearing it get repeated, so blandly, made the blood in Arthur’s ears roar.

Dutch sighed at the retelling. He shook his head and instructed Arthur and Charles to just head out for a few days.

That led to the two of them in Arthur’s tent, deciding that they would just go out to hunt the legendary buck supposedly north of Strawberry. Something they both would enjoy. It would also hopefully suppress Arthur’s anger so he won’t lash out at Micah again when they return.

Hosea was at the horses to see them off. It was some sort of comfort.

“Did you really have to attack him?” Charles sighed when they were a safe enough distance away from camp.

“You heard what he called you,” Arthur growled. He shrugged and looked down at Cheshire’s neck, deciding to give her a pat. “He deserved it.”

“I can fight my own battles, you know.”

Arthur just grumbled stared down the length of Cheshire’s neck. True, it wasn’t his fight, but Charles was just going to take the insult. He was too humble to rise to such bait. If it was even bait. If Micah wasn’t looking for a fight, then he just wanted to try to show he was superior. That was very likely. Charles was such a good choice because he wasn’t the new star child like Lenny and because he would just take it.

They were on their way to Valentine. Arthur needed his hair cut after three weeks of letting it grow and Valentine could provide them that, a source of warm meals, and a decent place to stay the night instead of camping. The hotel in Valentine also provided baths, which Arthur felt like he desperately needed.

“But I appreciate you putting him in his place,” Charles added.

“Yeah, well, you fightin’ back could’ve set him off. He might try to cause trouble later, too. Best if I just took the blame…”

“Arthur.” It was said in that tone of voice that meant he should look at Charles. “Thank you.”

“Ain’t nothin’...”

The last time any of the Van der Linde gang had been in Valentine was when Arthur, Bill, and Karen robbed the bank. It was over three weeks ago and it looked like the town was doing fine. Not like Arthur robbed all of the safes and he made sure to only break the locks. None of the law saw his face, they were only after the trio because they robbed the town bank. Then they got away safely, the law didn’t bother chasing them too far, so Arthur hoped the town would later forget him later. It appeared so when they rode by the sheriff's office.

They walked the horses all the way to and through town. It was nice to finally get out of camp and out of the heat. Movements from Cheshire never sparked pain like when Arthur and Charles went fishing. A good sign that he could finally do work again. He was glad to hide his discomfort that day because Charles may have made them turn around and return to camp if he saw that Arthur still needed to rest.

Now though, Charles didn’t have all his concentration on Arthur. He studied the scenery as they went, talked to Arthur some, and kissed to Taima. In town, he nodded politely at any passersby who acknowledged him. He steered Taima away from townsfolk who got too close. He was too nice for his own good. How he ended up in a gang with a bunch of lowlives eluded Arthur.

They hitched the horses in front of the hotel and went in the rent their room. Arthur couldn’t tell if he and Charles were under scrutiny from the hotel owner when they went in. He did his best to avoid looking at him and let Charles do the business. Wasn’t the hotel owner’s business if they were a thing or not. For all he could know, they were just two friends holding up in the same room for the night because they wanted to save money. He sure didn’t say if there were any other rooms available.

“What first?” Charles asked when they entered their room. He set the bag with their spare clothes down on the bed.

“Do you wanna take the horses over to the stables while I go get my hair cut? You can come back so we can grab our food. Then we can return to the hotel for baths and settle for bed…” Arthur rattled off.

The darker man chuckled as he flipped through a little pamphlet he had taken from the front desk. “Didn’t mean to ask plans for the entire night but I’m glad you’re thinking ahead.”

“I…”

“It’s fine, Arthur. I’m only teasing.”

Arthur cleared his throat and nodded. He hasn’t worn his hat since the mountains. If he was at the moment, then he’d be able to tip it down low enough to hide the blush on his cheeks.

Charles smiled at him and led the way outside. He led the horses toward the stables while Arthur headed over to the saloon to visit the barber. It was a decent-sized crowd for the hours of afternoon-evening. No one was in the chair but the barber was at his station, cleaning his supplies. He greeted Arthur politely and readied his station for his new customer.

The barber commented on his hair length and said that if he were Arthur, he would let it keep growing so he could pull it back. Arthur could pull it back but it was not for him. He liked his hair short, parted on the left side, with his bangs hanging over his temples. Sounded vain having his hair so certain but it was easiest because it naturally fell that way and the lighter the better. Charles could pull off long hair; Arthur, not so much.

While he was in the chair, he also paid for the barber to trim his beard back down to a stubble. He had trimmed it himself once he could actually use his arm, so it wasn’t too long, but might as well get it done.

“Wow, it’s like I’m looking at a new man,” Charles greeted when he sat down in front of Arthur.

“Ain’t as short as I usually get after long breaks from the barber,” Arthur said with a shrug. He smiled and thanked the bartender when he brought their meals. Lamb…

“I’m sure you look fine.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Probably look better with it longer than as short as the barber can get with scissors. Look like a right fool with it short.”

“I still stand. Sure you look fine either way.”

Arthur scoffed and continued eating.

Valentine was a dirty little farm town that Arthur didn’t hate as much as he did when he first entered its atmosphere. It had the essentials and friendly citizens. There was nothing to hate about it except the ever-present smell of animal shit. Also didn’t help that the roads were nearly always mud. Could never walk the roads without stepping in animal shit or fresh mud.

It sparked one of those _in another life_ thoughts for Arthur. In another life, he could have settled down for a life of herding sheep or cows or, hell, even goats. Or better yet, breeding horses. Breeding horses, raising them, then selling them to good owners. But those thoughts were exactly _in another life_. In a life where he wasn’t an outlaw, taken in by Dutch and Hosea so he would no longer have to suffer on the streets.

Arthur shook his head to help clear the thoughts and dug into his meal. He was sure Charles noticed, nothing escaped that man, but he thankfully didn’t say anything.

The meal was satisfying. Neither man said much as they finished eating. It left Arthur feeling not quite stuffed but full enough to be content. _Those_ types of meals were the best. That meant Arthur didn’t have to suffer being stuffed and can go fight someone just because he could. He won’t, of course. Charles wouldn’t approve and they weren’t here to cause trouble…

“You can finally get your bath with bubbles,” Charles said as they walked back to the hotel.

Arthur was scratching his cheek. He looked at Charles and frowned. “Huh?”

“That second day, you said you wanted a bath with bubbles. We couldn’t do that so I just took you out to one of those islands to wash off.” The taller man squinted. “I’m not surprised you don’t quite remember that.”

Arthur grunted. He stepped up front desk when they entered the hotel. Charles headed upstairs for their extra clothes.

“We can only fill the bath for one,” the hotel owner informed. “Only one of you can be in there at a time.”

The outlaw sighed and fished a few dollars from his pocket to add to the fifty cents he was already paying. “How about we both can go back there and you won’t say a thing to nobody when we leave? And make sure none of the ladies bother us.”

The man behind the desk eyed the money but hesitantly accepted it. He sent for one of the women to get everything set up. It didn’t take long, thankfully. Arthur didn’t like standing in the lobby with Charles at his side and the hotel owner awkwardly behind the counter. He didn’t want to be in the room with that man, not knowing if they were being harshly judged in his head. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but he didn’t want to feel the same scrutinizing gaze from everyone in town if gossip happened to spread.

A woman eventually called that the bath was ready so the two Van der Linde boys headed back not long after. Charles set their spare clothes on the dresser along the wall and started rummaging through the drawers for something. Arthur let him do… _that_ … while he was busy removing the lap desk from the tub. He put the soap supplies and alcohol bottle next to the tub for an easy reach. Because getting out of the tub to fetch all the supplies would get tiresome and then your body gets all cold from exiting the warm water… Arthur preferred staying in the water until it turned cold or if it was lukewarm for too long.

Charles had moved supplies to the side of the tub, too, before stripping down and gracefully slipping into the water. Arthur was entranced. The man let out a low hiss from between his teeth as he sank into the steaming water, strong arms slowly lowering him down. Sturdy man that Arthur would more than enjoy being under.

Arthur coughed and averted his gaze, feeling heat rush to his cheeks.

“Water’s fine…” Charles hummed. “You should join me…”

Arthur sputtered and went to tip his hat down, somehow forgetting that he wasn’t wearing it. He started unbuttoning his blue plaid shirt, forgetting that his suspenders were over his shoulders to prevent him from easily removing it… god, he was such a mess. A simple offer to join Charles in the tub had his hands sweating and shaking and unable to do simple tasks. Left his mind scrambling for what to do next and left obvious things he needed to do out of the picture. It didn’t help that Charles watched the entire time, flashing his charming smile.

He took a moment to breathe. It must have helped because Arthur was back on track. He slid his suspenders off his shoulders, undid his pants, unbuttoned his shirt, then slipped out of his layers to quickly join Charles in the tub. His entrance wasn’t as smooth and he regretted it some due to the heat of the water. All the while, Charles smiled at him.

“You’re looking good. Couldn’t tell you were ever shot and left for the O’Driscolls if it weren’t for that mark on your shoulder,” Charles commented.

Arthur’s hand drifted up to run his fingers over the uneven skin. What it looked like was already engraved in his brain. A nasty looking blotch of red, twisted skin set on his pale, freckled shoulder. He wasn’t self-conscious about it but he sure didn’t like it getting pointed out. Had it not been as fresh, he may not have wanted to cover it as badly as he did in the bath.

Charles tipped his head slightly. His brown eyes looked like liquid bronze, as did much of the rest of his body, in the gentle candlelight. It looked serene and so unnatural, especially seeing the noticeable scars here and there. Each a story of the man, Arthur could relate.

“Come here.” A simple beckon that could be ignored came from a voice so smooth. Arthur’s heart felt as warm as the bath.

He slid from his end of the tub to Charles’ where the backrest was. The man welcomed him in a warm embrace and pressed the smaller back to his chest. He rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezed briefly. Warmth on levels like this would usually be overwhelming. It nearly was but the fact that it was Charles made it not.

“How are you?” Charles asked quietly.

Arthur felt almost numb. He ran his hands up and down Charles’ bare thighs, enjoying how he could easily feel the muscle beneath the skin. “Good. This feels…” he trailed off. There was a reason Hosea taught him to write in journals. It was because he wasn’t good with words. He could very easily put them on paper but he couldn’t speak them. “I like this.”

Arthur felt the rumble in Charles’ chest instead of hearing it. The arms around him carefully unwound. Soap was lathered on his chest, spread by a hand that didn’t linger in any spot too long. It was calming, almost too calming. Like someone was trying to convince him to sleep but Arthur didn’t want that.

Charles eventually grabbed a cup from outside the tub to pour water over Arthur’s hair. His fingers worked soap into the freshly cut locks, creating even more soap. When he was done, he leaned forward and met Arthur in a brief kiss.

They switched places with ease. Arthur accepted the bar of soap and readily wiped down any skin of Charles that he could touch, careful not to linger. His favorite part had to be when Charles handed over soap for his hair, a clear sign of permission to wash it. He has never touched Charles’ hair much. Most times that he did was when they were excited and Arthur had to do something with his hands.

With the way they lived, one would think there was little to no self-care. Spend a day with the ladies, that’ll change anyone’s mind for sure. Properly feel Charles’ hair— _actually feel it_ —because that’ll work too. It was as soft as Mary-Beth’s. Arthur only knew that because he spent a day with the women since he wasn’t allowed to leave camp and she requested for him to brush her hair while she, Tilly, and Karen gossiped. The black strands, Arthur couldn’t describe them. He just knew that they became even softer under the soap and untangled easily when brushed.

They were clean, eventually, and enjoying the rest of the heat before it left the water. The bottle of alcohol had been opened and shared between them. It was wine, something Arthur wasn’t a big fan of. It was too expensive for his tastes.

After the wine, they got handsy. Charles had Arthur beneath him against the backrest, mouthing along his neck after just leaving him breathless from kissing. Arthur was effectively pinned, completely unable to move against Charles. Only his hands were free, which he locked to the edge of the bath. It was pure bliss. Getting attention from Charles was good for Arthur’s heart but contact was what everything of Arthur craved.

“We can’t be in here forever and I don’t want to do this here,” he breathed. He expressed his impatience by trying to unsuccessfully switch positions. Charles pulled back to look at him. “Meaning… I’d like to take this back to our room, Charles…”

“Why didn’t you say that first?” Charles rumbled.

Arthur growled and tried to roll his hips against Charles but strong hands on his thighs kept him down. It was frustrating enough that Charles took advantage of the sensitive skin on his neck and around his ears but the fact that he had Arthur hard and unable to relieve himself made it worse. That man didn’t know how he affected Arthur….

“Charles…” It was intended to come out as a growl but Charles’ teeth grazed his neck again and took the ferocity out of it.

“Fine, fine…”

Charles escaped from the tub before Arthur could grab him and pulled Arthur out before he could touch himself. He chuckled at the man’s dissatisfied groan. Arthur didn’t even have a moment to once he was out of the tub because Charles was on him, wrapping a towel around his waist. It didn’t make sense how he moved so fast and with such a clear head. How he had a towel around himself before he wrapped one around Arthur was even wilder.

“Get another towel and let’s go,” Charles instructed. He grabbed their spare clothes and left the bathroom.

Arthur cursed and adjusted the towel. It would be enough cover just to head upstairs. Since Charles already grabbed their clothes, Arthur just had to follow. He cursed again when he turned wildly to find another towel. The material around him was already tight and uncomfortable against his member, he wanted to go up to his room with Charles and not looking for another towel.

It took some searching but there was a towel in the cupboard underneath a basin where people wash their faces or shave. Stupid place to put it. Should have left it out. Didn’t make sense why there were hardly any towels. Arthur cursed and hissed under his breath when he walked out of the bathroom. Just to his luck, no one was behind the desk when he went out to the lobby and all the curtains were drawn.

Arthur opened the door to his rented room and growled as he entered, “Don’t know what we need another goddamn towel for…”

Charles came out from behind the door and was on Arthur in an instant. It looked like it was going to be rough at first but Charles’ sharp actions turned smooth as soon as he touched the shorter man. His arms encircled Arthur, hands working under the towel to grab and knead the firm ass. He and his stupid mouth went right for Arthur’s sensitive skin. Arthur had more freedom than in the tub, however, so he finally rolled his hips against something. Friction, finally.

“Wanna take it further, Charles,” Arthur panted. He licked his lips and tipped his head in an attempt to get Charles to meet him. It worked. Those lips were replaced on Arthur’s and a tongue slid in to taste him. Arthur moaned into it before he broke away. “Take it to the bed… Ain’t never done this with another man ‘fore but I want to do this with you…”

Charles made a noise at that. It was his turn to grind up against Arthur. Arthur’s knees went weak but strong arms kept him up. Slowly they walked to the bed until the back’s of Arthur’s knees nudged the mattress. He was lowered down carefully until he stared up at Charles. The long strands of black hair were like a curtain of privacy around them. A moment just for them…

“Are you sure?” Charles asked. His voice was lower, it was hard to miss the arousal in it.

Arthur reached up to pull that damn man down into a kiss full of teeth. He let out a broken moan and tried to get the rest of the larger body on him. Charles held himself up steadfast.

They separated and sucked in air greedily.

“Wouldn’t’ve said if I didn’t,” Arthur huffed.

“You’re precious,” Charles purred. He kissed Arthur on the forehead before he climbed off the bed to search through their things. There was the sound of jingling and a lot like Arthur’s holster belt getting picked up then sat down. The man returned with a vile of clear, gold-ish fluid. He noticed the odd stare he received. “Olive oil.”

Arthur’s heart sped up. Oil to make things easier. Because men couldn’t naturally make things wet down there like some women could. He wasn’t as stupid as he let others think. It was just easier to grunt, nod, and do as he was told. For some reason, it never occurred to him that he would need prepping. He knew they would need the lubrication…

Charles, with careful hands, removed the towel from Arthur’s waist and set it aside with the vial. He ran his open palms up and down Arthur’s frame, pausing to rub circles over the prone man’s nipples with his thumbs. He didn’t stay there for long, deciding to keep his hands moving until he stopped at Arthur’s hips once more. His hands steadied Arthur after squirming from being touched. He looked down seriously and grabbed one of Arthur’s hands, pinning it above the man’s head.

“It won’t be very comfortable right away. So you’ll have to tell me when you want me to stop or squeeze my hand and I will stop. Alright, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded dumbly.

There was some hesitation from Charles but after not getting any other response, he spread Arthur’s legs, coated a finger with the oil, and started massaging his hole. It was a different feeling, for sure. The only time Arthur ever touched down there was to clean. He used to jack himself off but that was not the same area of focus. Plus, it was different with someone else down there.

“I need you to relax for me,” Charles soothed.

“I’m tryin’,” Arthur grunted. Charles’ finger at his entrance was a steady pressure but Arthur’s body was so tense, nothing was going to get through.

Charles sighed. He kept his hands in place but positioned his body so he was beside Arthur, leaning over him. His lips grazed Arthur’s as if asking for permission to touch. There was no point in asking since Charles was also trying to get inside him, but the action was appreciated. A very curt nod was all it took and Charles latched his lips onto Arthur’s. It felt like he was trying to bring a demon to the surface, he was so persistent. He bit at Arthur’s lips and stuck his tongue in to tease him. Arthur pushed into the kiss until the lips relocated to his neck. Lips danced across Arthur’s neck and mouthed there until he moaned.

In the moment’s distraction, Charles pushed his finger past the ring of muscle. Arthur shifted his hips and squeezed the hand in his briefly.

“There…” Charles murmured. He kissed Arthur on the forehead. “It should all be easier, now.”

Arthur nodded his head quickly. It felt odd, on the border of painful because it was so tight. Charles had thick fingers but there was only one inserted. And he was a big man so to think when he actually entered Arthur… _whew_.

Charles moved with caution. He returned to be between Arthur’s legs and started a slow in and out motion. Arthur shifted occasionally. It wasn’t until Charles pushed his finger deep enough and did something that Arthur bit his lip to muffle a moan. He saw stars for a moment and squirmed, unable to tell if he was squirming to get away from the feeling or trying to pursue it.

There was a chuckle and pressure against that spot until Arthur was a wriggling mess and his cock was leaking on his stomach. A second finger slipped in but halted when Arthur squeezed Charles’ hand tightly. Just like he said he would. And when Arthur let up on his hand, he started a scissoring motion that did a good job of stretching.

Charles still wore his towel that hid himself but it would be impossible for him not to also be hard. His pupils were nearly indistinguishable from his irises and his lips were just slightly parted with his tongue peeking out occasionally. His own lust was written all over his face, it was not hard to miss that. He got to revel in giving Arthur pleasure and it was surprising he held himself back.

“Charles,” Arthur groaned, “get a move on.”

“If you aren’t ready—”

“Just fuck me already.”

Charles stopped his movements. Arthur’s eyes were on the ceiling when the man removed his fingers. The sound of the vial getting popped open was a good queue to close his eyes to calm his racing heart. Maybe he was rushing this but he knew Charles would take good care of him through it.

His eyes flew open when he felt the head of Charles’ cock at his hole.

“Same rule with the hand, Arthur.”

The first push had Arthur squeezing his hand immediately. The stretch was more than two of Charles’ fingers. Too painful to be anywhere near pleasurable. Charles lowered himself to kiss Arthur in an attempt to distract the man.

It worked, Arthur supposed. He kissed back with fervor, doing his best to ignore the burn. He concentrated on how Charles’ body was as warm as his own. They were both decently-sized men with more than enough body heat each. It’ll cause them to sweat. Would not be a surprise.

Charles kept Arthur distracted well. He was able to sheathe himself fully with Arthur squeezing his hand only once more during the process. They both were stilled. Arthur had his eyes closed, doing his best to keep his breathing even.

“I’m going to start moving,” Charles alerted. He released Arthur’s hand to rest on his elbows.

Arthur cracked his eyes open and nodded.

His body had grown somewhat accustomed to the stretch. When Charles started moving, there was less pain and definitely more pleasure than before. It was on the edge, however. It was an all-new feeling that made his head spin. His eyes wanted to water all because of Charles’ slow motions and his body’s inability to comprehend what was happening. It felt good but at the same time…

Charles nosed under his chin. Arthur threw his head back to expose his neck. He hooked his arms underneath Charles’ arms and wrapped them around the bigger man’s back. He dug his blunt nails into the muscles of his back, silently allowing for marks on his skin. Charles latched his mouth onto the skin in the crook of Arthur’s neck and started _sucking_.

Arthur decided, after the pain was replaced by pure pleasure, that he liked this. It was different than being with a woman. He didn’t even have much to base it on, considering he had a few flings before he dated Mary. He and Mary never went that far, wanting to keep the relationship pure until they decided it was _time_ but then Mary ended it. Arthur stopped hooking up with ladies after Isaac was born then killed along with Eliza.

But being with another man gave him different feelings. He was the one getting attention, not only giving it out. In this situation, he was the one getting fawned over, and he had done his best to return as much attention and favors as possible. And the feeling of being filled was delicious. With being accustomed to Charles’ cock, he was able to enjoy the feeling of the man pumping into him and when Charles’ cock dragged over Arthur’s prostate, he melted. It alerted him of the tight knot forming in his core.

Charles attacked Arthur’s lower neck with his mouth as he did his best to keep hitting _that_ spot. It was overwhelming. His pace wasn’t agonizingly slow but his movements weren’t fast and choppy.

“Fuck, Charles,” Arthur panted. He squeezed his eyes shut but found that it amplified everything he felt so he forced them back open.

“How close are you?” Charles murmured. He worked his way back up to look at the blue-green eyes.

“I don’t—” Arthur bit his lip and fisted his hands into the sheets. Hell if he knew. It was just building and building. He has never felt like _this_ before. “I can’t—”

Charles reached between them and grabbed Arthur’s length and gave it a few pumps. Everything that had built up in Arthur’s core stacked more and more. The knot tightened and a fire started up his spine.

“Soon if you keep this up…”

Since there was space between them, Arthur looked into Charles’ eyes.

“Then come.”

A few more quick jerks and that was it. Arthur shuddered and moaned as his orgasm crashed into him. Charles pressed their lips together and swallowed the noises that he made. He milked Arthur through his orgasm until his hips stuttered as he worked through his own. Arthur did his best to attend to the man by continuing the kiss between them and replacing his hands on the broad back above him to knead the muscles with his fingers. He eventually stilled and returned the kiss once more before separating to bump their noses together.

Arthur smiled up at him goofily. There were words on his tongue that he wanted to say but didn’t know how. Affection for this man bubbled warmly in his chest. He wasn’t even sure if writing his feelings out in his journal would help. Partially because he did not think they were ready to confess any love for each other yet. He had a feeling that even words on paper wouldn’t come to him and drawing hearts on a page would just look silly.

“I’m ready to turn in,” Arthur announced.

Charles smiled briefly. He pulled out of Arthur slowly, watching him for any signs of pain, before picking up one of the discarded towels to wipe them off. Arthur mused at the feeling of loss but he didn’t have to worry long because Charles cleaned them up and returned to him, wrapping the smaller man in his arms, and slipping underneath the sheets together.

Their legs tangled almost naturally. Arthur tucked his head under Charles’ chin and shifted to get as close as possible. The warmth was a little on the side of overbearing but overall enjoyable. He could feel the steady heartbeat of Charles lulling him slowly.

Charles ran his hands up and down Arthur’s back. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

Arthur had just enough senses to mumble back, “‘night, Charles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is _technically_ the first naughty stuff I've written... or exposed to the public, at least. It's the first naughty stuff I've ever taken seriously. Hope it wasn't as disappointing to you as it was to me. 
> 
> [Tumblr](http://a-sad-yeehaw.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/radiantmoondino)  
> Just in case you want to yell at me. Or talk to me. For whatever reason. I'll panic, either way.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for: 1) This is a filler chapter. 2) It took too long to deliver this chapter. 3) It is choppy. 4) Posting it so late (in the night, for me anyway). 
> 
> I just wanted to cover these two missions but I didn't want to spend a long time on them. I started writing the next chapter when I started writing this one and thought I could easily do it but nope. The only good thing that came out of that attempt was a decent start. Which, if you have done your math you might know what that chapter will be. By the end of this chapter, you'll probably know. 
> 
> I'll try to get the next chapter out this week because this one is just short of 3,000 words and it's very lacking in all sorts. But I hope there is some enjoyment in it and here's to hoping the next chapter coming out this week too.

The following morning, Arthur learned some repercussions of having sex with another man. While emerging from the haziness of sleep with Charles was nice, the soreness in his rear was unexpected when he started moving around. Charles apologized for it, curse him because of course he would. They left and headed out to hunt down the legendary buck. The saddle did not help any but Arthur dealt with it. He didn’t regret what they did and he didn’t want Charles too, either.

They stayed out an extra day to hunt for meat to actually bring back to camp. It was also another day for Arthur to recover so he could walk into camp without looking like he had a stick shoved up his ass. To top off the remainder of the day, they spent that night exploring each other’s bodies before bedding down.

They returned to camp around noon the next day with multiple rabbits and a deer carcass. Pearson set to preparing some of the meat immediately and shooed them off so he could work.

Arthur and Charles had to separate because Arthur was getting sent out to the Gray’s place. John was there with Javier to do business. Was not what Arthur wanted to do, digging himself deeper with the two families, but he had orders and he followed them. He was just thankful Sean went out and burned their tobacco fields with John so Arthur didn’t have to get involved in that, too.

When he arrived, John and Javier were getting a talking to from one of the older Gray men of the family. He took every opportunity to insult the three men and gladly called them Yankees. It wasn’t soon after they were leaving. Arthur was thankful for that, he didn’t feel like getting a talking to from a delusional old man.

They left Caliga Hall with orders to steal some of the Braithwaite’s best horses. What they then did with their prizes was up to them but the Gray elder suggested they sold them off. That was relatively their only option. The gang already had spare horses and they weren’t as high maintenance as these other horses would be. Besides, fancy horses could just draw attention to them. Greymore was probably the last fancy horse allowed in camp.

“You got a plan, Marston?” Arthur droned.

“Figured we’d just ride on in and get ‘em,” John said.

“You know that ain’t gonna work, dumbass.” Arthur sighed. He could already see the white fences ahead. They were heading for the side entrance. “Play hard to get and pretend we want to look at the horses.”

“Sayin’ we just want to look at the horses ain’t gonna work, either,” John growled.

Javier made his own exaggerated noise. “Say we have an appointment. Save the hard to get for when we get in there.”

The two ahead looked back at him with blank stares. Arthur didn’t forget about Javier but he hadn’t entirely thought the man would give input. Some people just let Arthur and John argue until they’re no longer entertained by it.

There was a guard at the gate. A man who was probably dedicated to his job enough to not let just anyone through. Which wouldn’t be great for them.

John handled the situation… well, he handled it. He stuttered in that stupid way he does when he’s just slightly unsure but he recovered well enough. Hosea taught both of them better than that, which was annoying. Though without struggling much more, John got them welcomed in tersely and led them back them to the barns. Arthur reminded them to keep an easy pace so they didn’t raise suspicion. The entire property was busy so there was a good chance that they wouldn’t raise suspicion but Arthur couldn’t risk it. In this situation, he was acting against the Braithwaite’s and for the Gray’s, so not getting recognized would be great, too.

They hitched the horses up outside of the fenced-in stable area. Boaz and Old Boy were hitched next to each other while Cheshire got her own hitching post.

“I’ll do the talkin’,” Arthur grumbled as he pushed open the gate.

“Whatever,” John huffed from behind.

There was one man outside the stable, busy cleaning a saddle. He didn’t raise his head at the approaching footsteps. Even when Arthur cleared his throat to get his attention he didn’t acknowledge his guests.

“You the man to get horses from ‘round here?” Arthur started. The man straightened and gave the three newcomers a stink eye.

“Go away,” the man growled. And he bent back over to continue his work.

“Woah there. My friends and I are looking for some fine horses to buy and we heard this was the place to get them.” Arthur raised his hands to get the man looking at him again. He added, “See, we’re looking to get into the breedin’ business.”

Maybe the man realized he couldn’t wait them out. He sighed, threw the cleaning rag down, and motioned inside the stables. The three followed him inside as he walked right toward the black thoroughbred. “This one may be good for you. Saw your current mare out there. Black will do good to tame down that kind of coat,” he explained in a monotone voice. “Not many buyers want crazy coats but they want pure thoroughbreds. This black stallion will breed your mare good, and others, for many years because he’s only a few years young.”

He turned around and moved on to the white thoroughbred. “This one won’t make a good coat with your mare out there. The brown boy might do you some good. Probably won’t make a pretty coat with your nag but he had more muscles than blacky. Though he’s not as fast as blacky… You’ll get a good racehorse if you breed that black one.”

John elbowed Arthur in his side and motioned toward the stable worker. Arthur waved him off. As the stable worker talked, Arthur took the few long strides between them and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. When the body went still, he dropped it with a sigh.

“Alright, Javier, you’ll lead the horses once we each get one. John, you’ll lead us out of here. I’ll cover our asses. The Braithwaites probably recognize their own horses so we’ll need to make a quick escape,” Arthur ordered.

They each calmed down a thoroughbred and fixed a rope halter on each. Javier accepted the long leads when he was on Boaz’s back. They were only saddled and already seen stealing the horses. Arthur knew they were going to get caught but didn’t expect it so soon.

“John, Javier, get going!” Arthur growled. He pulled his repeated from his saddle and shot their nearest pursuer.

“Working on it!” John spat in reply.

John spurred Old Boy into a gallop, Javier and Arthur followed closely behind. Javier kept his hands busy with steering Boaz and keeping a hold on the horses but Arthur and John had their hands free to shoot their guns.

It felt good to be doing work again. It wasn’t the type of work Arthur wanted to do, due to the situation between the warring families, but it felt good. It felt good to feel the adrenaline running through his veins and it felt even better to shoot his gun with a purpose. He wasn’t for shooting innocents but they shot first and, well, it was helping to cure the last of the giddiness from being cooped up in camp for three weeks. Besides, no one said the Braithwaites were innocent.

The main path was too busy with attackers so John led them through the fields and an old graveyard before the brush and trees. They were still followed so Arthur covered their asses. Cheshire rode on, keeping up with the two ahead. He kept his legs tight against her sides but was mindful of his spurs. He could trust her to keep up even as his hands were removed from the reins.

The few behind them were easily dispatched. It left only the sound of horse hooves, Arthur reloading, and the brushing of vegetation in the air. As nice as it was, it was also unnerving.

“How we lookin’?” John called back.

“Good…” Arthur returned as they came out of the greenery. There was one more guy coming but one bullet to the head and they were clear. “Where are we sellin’ these horses?”

“A little north of camp, near that collapsed building,” answered John.

“They ain’t gonna pose a threat to camp?”

“Don’t ask me questions you know I don’t know the answer to, Morgan.”

Arthur sneered at the snap toward him but pressed the issue no further. Wasn’t his fault he thought John would know more simply because he talked to the Gray man longer than he. It would have been good information to collect before they blindly accepted. Could just be a way to get the three thinking about something else for easy kills. A good reason why you can’t trust rich folk.

The black thoroughbred suddenly threw his head and Javier let out a pained grunt as the stallion’s rope was ripped from his hands.

“I’ll get him,” Arthur assured when Javier looked like he was going to whip Boaz around to chase the loose horse.

“Just meet us up ahead,” John replied in the same tone.

It wasn’t hard to catch up to the black stallion. He was too busy throwing his head, Arthur was able to jump to his back and steer him back to John and Javier. Cheshire followed him, even as he stayed on the horse for the remainder of the ride to their buyers.

Their buyers were a set of identical twins. One Clay, the other Clive. Clay did all the talking and he did _not_ offer thousands of dollars for each horse. Hell, he didn’t even offer a total thousand for all three _pure_ thoroughbreds. It had Arthur turning to glare at John with pure fury. They just risked getting killed to sell some high-class horses for only about three-hundred dollars?

They still sold the horses at the end of the day because it would be a waste to keep them. They were parting ways when Arthur leaned in close to John and snarled in his ear, “Some plan, Marston.” They two parted like there was a skunk between them. Arthur headed back to camp and John headed to wherever the hell he goes to be sour.

~*~

Charles had spent the rest of the day with Arthur in an effort to get him to calm down. They fished then spent the night huddled next to each other by the scout campfire before they separated to head to their own respective tents for bed.

The spent the morning together, too. Arthur was taking care of his horses when Charles found him. They were alone and fairly out of sight when Charles put his hands on Arthur’s hips and snuck them into his pants to get them under the pale, purple-patterned shirt. His hands went up and down Arthur’s sides, attempting to find a sensitive spot, while their lips connected and tongues warred for dominance. Arthur reveled in all the attention Charles had on him. It wasn’t enough contact so his hips bucked forward but Charles’ hands kept them from touching.

“Sure you want to get riled up in camp?” His voice was husky. He clearly wanted it too but they could get caught…

“We could sneak away for a quickie…” Arthur offered lowly.

Charles raised his eyebrows. The spark in his eyes couldn’t be missed. It was equally tempting for both of them. Arthur would love the time with Charles and he didn’t doubt it was mutual. Plus, any way to get as much skin on skin contact with the man was always delicious.

“Arthur! Where are you?” Trelawny’s voice rang out. Arthur and Charles both flinched, taking a step away from each other, despite still being out of sight. Arthur tucked his shirt back in and grabbed his hat from atop his saddle to hide the blush that had spread on his cheeks. Despite the temperature, he also grabbed his black dusted from the hitching post and buttoned it up to hide himself. “Arthur!”

“Duty calls…” Arthur grumbled. He accepted another kiss from Charles before adjusting himself in his pants and turning away. “Find me later and maybe we can finish this.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Trelawny was walking toward the front of camp. He looked in every direction until his eyes landed on Arthur and brightened. “Ah, Arthur!”

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” Arthur humored him.

“I have something that may interest you. And a friend for you to meet. I feel you two will get along great! He also will prove himself to be resourceful,” the magician explained. He motioned toward his horse, already saddled up. “Come, he’s expecting us.”

Arthur returned to Cheshire. Charles had moved away but he was still able to see Arthur wave to him.

Josiah led them to Rhodes station. He waltzed in first and talked to the man behind the counter in such a way he didn’t with the rest of the gang. He was clearly acting but the way he did it was soft, like he was trying not to spook the man. Like the man was a wild or vulnerable animal and they couldn’t risk him not feeling safe. Was it because Arthur was with Trelawny? He didn’t think he was _that_ imposing.

His name was Alden and he was to supply them stagecoach routes for a small price. According to Josiah, he was a _discouraged man_ … whatever that was supposed to mean. It made it sound like he was calling Josiah that too, which was strange but Josiah was a strange man in general.

“What do you think?” Josiah asked when they were back on their horses and riding toward the intersection point.

“I _think_ he’s not too trustworthy,” Arthur grumbled in reply.

“Oh, you can trust Alden. He is an honest man trying to get by. I already did the hard work in befriending him and getting him to comply. You just have to cooperate with him and bring in what he supplies.”

Arthur turned his glare to the fancily-dressed man. He hoped he really got his point across that he wasn’t in any mood to listen to shit.

They rested at a fork in the road until a stagecoach drove by. The sight of it made Arthur’s body kick in to robbing mode but Josiah said they were to go in quietly. No using guns, follow Trelawny’s lead. It was nothing of what Arthur wanted but he would go with it. Trelawny was smart in his own, odd sort of way. He was educated in ways Arthur wasn’t so his plan would hopefully be sound enough.

Was it, though? He distracted the stagecoach driver by singing, which grabbed the attention of the woman passenger inside. She was drawn to his voice like a moth to a flame. She stopped her drivers and hopped out of the wagon to sing with Trelawny. When her back was turned and her drivers fully distracted, Arthur moved in with the lockpicker Josiah provided him. It was effective, Arthur had to admit. It was quiet and just as fast if he was to shoot the lock.

Once he collected the cash and few jewels, Arthur fled and waited for Josiah to finish up. He mounted Cheshire and backed off to act like someone waiting for the stagecoach the continue moving so he could continue with his own journey.

“Was it worth it?” Josiah asked cheerfully. He was back on Gwydion and adjusting his suit.

“I ‘spose so,” Arthur replied. He counted the bills skillfully and handed over Josiah’s share. “Thanks, I guess…”

“Any time!” He turned his appaloosa away and began to ride off but he stopped suddenly and turned so he could look at the enforcer once more. “Oh, and Dutch wanted to make sure I sent you to Rhodes as soon as we were done today. Apparently Bill, Micah, and Sean are there and waiting for you. You know, for the next move against the families.”

“Oh, really? Well, thanks.”

“Of course. Good luck, Mr. Morgan!”

Arthur pocketed his own money and sighed. On to digging for the rumored gold of the families…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With that end, it's probably obvious what's happening next. Sorry that we're rolling through Clemens Point so fast but I'm not a fan of the missions and area. But good thing it's not at the end, right? Haha...


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I wasn’t writing. :\  
> Sorry about that. Go ahead and skip the rest if you want to get right to reading. 
> 
> Instead of writing, I read through the Fables comics, read the Wolf Among Us comics, played through the Wolf Among Us three times, started playing Overwatch again, and started anew in Stardew Valley. It didn’t help that I only daydreamed about writing and read old projects of mine and other fics. Probably doesn’t help any that I’ve been eyeing Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice. And I also really want to work on my next Charthur fic and start a modern/semi-modern Charthur fic but I really want to finish this one first… I also have some (irl) farm animals that I have to take care of for a few months so they’re taking up a decent amount of time in my evenings. Now just think, at first my tv broke so then I couldn’t actually do research to write. Maybe if it had not broke, I would still be on track. 
> 
> Sorry if it sounds like excuse after excuse but ¯\\_(ᴗ‸ᴗ)_/¯ that’s what’s happening at the moment, I guess.

A spray of red erupted from Sean’s head and the Irishman’s body became a puppet as he fell to the ground. A thin line of pain appeared in Arthur’s side, sending him sideways to get behind cover. All breath left him and the world threatened to turn over as things tried to piece together. He peeked out from behind his cover to risk a glance at Sean’s motionless body. Blood had already started to pool around his head, bright against the orange dirt and red hair. His brains and cracked open skull were exposed for the air to touch.

Such a familiar sight wouldn't make his stomach threaten to spill but it somehow did.

Enough yelling from Micah and Bill spurred Arthur into drawing his pistols and shooting at their attackers. Grays and other appointed citizens, all to take down the Van der Linde boys. Just nuisances. They should have seen something like this coming. Arthur had to play on both sides of the families. It wouldn’t be a surprise if they each saw him working for one of the other.

It was when he and Micah ran to the gun store, Arthur felt some pain through the adrenaline running strong in his veins. Maybe he didn’t even feel the pain but he looked down and saw the red soaked through the edges of a tear in his pale blue vest. A bullet had grazed him right after Sean had been decapitated. It wouldn’t be a problem unless it went untreated for a while. Arthur planned to get their gunfight over with as soon as possible.

Micah fought alongside Arthur with venom. It was like they were back at Strawberry, it that was as unsettling as their situation. There was a snarky look on his face and he shot with admirable accuracy. He bit remarks at Arthur but didn’t stop his work from shooting. It didn’t help that he smiled all the while and seemed to genuinely enjoy killing. Arthur ignored the man as best as he could but his stomach, upset, let him know that he really wanted to return to camp to lie down.

He fought through the discomforts his body made known. Micah always made his skin itch but Rhodes and the whole shitshow going on made him feel like he was covered in poison ivy. Bill had gone missing, too. The day was turning out to be _great_.

When the streets were clear, Arthur and Micah wandered out from the gun store and into the silent streets. Micah called out, gloating the sheriff. It turned out they had Bill and it took some well-aimed shots with little time to kill them all without Bill getting fired on. The bastard was lucky two good shots came with him.

And that was it. The town was deadly silent with dead bodies sprinkled throughout the streets. Arthur approached Sean’s body and knelt next to it. At least it was a quick death. His eyes were closed, too, making him look as peaceful as possible while having a hole in his head.

“He was a good kid…”

Bill came charging up behind him. His breathing was quick and movements wild. No doubt frightened from his little capture. “How the hell was I supposed to know?”

Arthur was to his feet in an instant and was on the black-haired man. “Let me see. They set us up once before, they didn’t like us, we destroyed their farm! Should I go on?”

Just then Micah’s voice, cool and slick with something sneaky, piped in. “Go easy on him, Morgan. He was out trying to find a lead, same as you, same as Hosea. All you do is complain when things don’t work out. Except when it’s your goddamn fault.”

Just when did Micah think he had enough power to think he could put Arthur in place? He didn’t get sent out to do the gang’s dirty work like Arthur and he has hardly even been in the gang, compared to Arthur! Just when did he think he knew how Arthur truly worked?

The enforcer took his venom off Bill and directed all of it toward Micah. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. You don’t give a damn ‘bout nobody but yourself.” In an attempt to cool himself down, he picked up Sean’s body and slung it over his shoulder. The boy was light and yet he used to eat rations nearly double of what he should have…

“Oh-ho you act so high and mighty… but you’re no better than the rest of us. I ridden with you boys close on what… six months now? And all you ever done was complain. Sure you can fight, but you can’t think.”

“You can’t do either.”

“Okay, cowpoke.”

Micah and Bill followed him like lost puppies toward the horses. Bill was still jittery. At least someone was watching their backs…

Arthur tossed Sean’s body over the back of Brown Jack. “Bill, take the boy’s body. Bury him proper someplace quiet,” he instructed and added with a snarl, “Micah… best you and I don’t speak for a moment.”

“I’m just so frightened by you…” Micah goaded. Yet he mounted Baylock and followed Bill’s lead.

“Get outta my sight,” Arthur sighed, “pair of fools…”

The town was dead silent as Arthur rode through. Not like he was expecting much else. They killed anyone who had a gun in hand. It was reckless, perhaps, but it had also been life or death. The wound on Arthur’s side stung as adrenaline faded away and left him with exhaustion. It was only a graze from a bullet but would still need to be treated. Something as simple and stupid as it could easily put him down for a week if he let it get infected and he didn’t need that again.

He rode down to the old civil war battlefield to sit on the top of the trenches to clean and stitch his wound shut. It didn’t take long, due to practice, so he downed some alcohol to help with the pain and wrote in his journal to distract himself a bit more. It was just a simple entry, a reflection of how Sean was like a little brother to him. Once he wrote something nice enough and sketched the clear image of the boy’s body from his mind, he mounted Cheshire and rode back to camp.

Things were faring no better there.

Abigail was in a frenzy because Jack was missing. Dutch seemed to be trying to calm her only with words and other people were getting riled up.

“Arthur, have you seen Jack?” Dutch asked as soon as he saw his enforcer walking into camp.

Abigail came bursting from John’s tent. Her eyes also locked on Arthur. “They took my son! They took him!”

“Who took him?”

It was Hosea’s turn to appear. He came from the south of camp with Charles following at his heels. Looked like they just got done sniffing around. Would make sense, since Charles is their go-to tracker.

“We think the Braithwaite woman took him,” Hosea answered. “Kieran saw a couple of fellers that sound like Braithwaite boys and Charles found tracks heading toward the manor.”

Arthur kept still when he heard Dutch grumbling under his breath. The older man barked out orders after assuring Abigail that they were going to get Jack back. All the men except Kieran and Micah were headed off to the Braithwaite Manor. They mounted their horses and left with Dutch in the lead and Arthur in the back.

Charles held Taima back and let the others go before him so he could ride beside Arthur while Dutch talked to everyone ahead and calmed John.

“Bill buried Sean,” Charles murmured. He happened to look down at Arthur’s side and frowned. “Should I be worried?”

Arthur shrugged. “I patched myself up not long after it happened. Just a little graze.”

“If you say so." 

They stopped the horses behind the trees that were on both sides of the trail back to the house. Arthur grabbed his repeated and rifle from his saddle before he made sure Cheshire was going to stay. It helped that Taima was there next to her and Taima was trained well not to move.

Before they parted so Arthur could approach next to Dutch, Charles grabbed the front of his shirt and gave him a quick smooch on the lips. “Stay safe, cowboy.”

Arthur scoffed and lovingly bumped into him. “Back at ya.”

Everyone was too busy staring down the manor that they didn’t see Arthur and Charles’ moment. Just when movement stopped, Dutch turned to look at everyone with appeasing eyes. He must have liked what he saw because he nodded and motioned for everyone to follow. He walked in the center with his original sons on both sides and the other members keeping formation with them.

They stopped in the little grass circle surrounded by the short, brick wall. Hosea pressed against Arthur briefly. “Keep close to someone and keep your ears open, son.”

Arthur simply nodded with a grunt. Dutch had been speaking but it was probably just him throwing his voice around to get what they were here for; Jack. More Braithwaite men came from the shadows and inside the house to answer the commotion. Word had spread about the large group of men that rolled up. Though they had to know they were going to get company sooner or later for what they did.

The sight was like a painting. A full moon overhead cast the landscape in its glow and the warm house and lantern lights contradicted the natural coolness of the moon. And up at the front door stood Catherine Braithwaite, the center of it all. She stood up on the balcony, looking down at them like they were nothing. It was a sight Arthur was sure some people will have ingrained in their memories.

_Inbred trash_. That was what Arthur caught before Dutch raised his pistols and opened fire and hell broke loose. Arthur hid behind a discarded wagon just to his left.

An old, bitter part of himself hated this. He missed the small robberies that resulted in them having loads of crash that they handed to the people in need. What they were doing now was to get Jack back, which he was alright with. But it was what they did to get themselves in this mess.

Pieces of the wagon exploded over Arthur’s shoulder. He flinched and tried to hide behind his cover better. Hosea was on the opposite end of the wagon, slipping in and out of cover with ease. He still moved well for his age.

“Can’t shoot anything behind the wagon, Arthur,” Hosea chided.

He was right. Arthur grumbled in reply and peeked around the corner to start picking off the Braithwaites.

“Arthur, John, Hosea, on me,” Dutch ordered when the outside of the house was clear enough to move in. “The rest of you, keep an eye out for any other arrivals.”

He was already walking up to the front porch and kicked the doors opened. He stood aside to let Arthur through first and then whoever followed next.

The house was as lavish as the only time Arthur was invited in. It was lit up with few lights because the inhabitants were getting ready for bed but had clearly expected something in the night. The sitting room on the east side of the house was empty and untouched. The next room, something that looked like an office, Arthur had to kick the door open to enter. The rich, wooden desk in the center of the room was tipped over to hide a single man behind it. He got a shot off but Arthur ambushed him too quickly. After pulling the trigger of his rifle once, Arthur was already on him and choking him out.

“Arthur, get up here and give us a hand!” Dutch barked from upstairs. Hosea was saying something that was too quiet to carry down to Arthur.

There was a flash from across the room, outside of the doorway. It was John rushing to the stairs from where he had been on the main floor. Arthur left the office and followed him up the stairs.

Dutch and Hosea were standing on opposite sides of a set of double doors on the east side of the hall. A shot from the inside of the room caused splinters to fly off the door and the older men flinched. Charles called from outside about more approaching.

Dutch cursed. “Go out there and help them, we’ll hold down the door.”

John spared Arthur a glance before heading out to the balcony. A younger part of Arthur wanted to give some sort of snarky comment but he was smart enough to keep his mouth in check. John wasn’t goading him so starting something from nothing, especially at the moment, was unnecessary. He brushed aside his feelings and went out to join John.

The gang members below were situated behind cover differently, now that they had people coming for them from a different direction. Arthur spotted Charles easily, finding that blue shirt—pale in the moonlight—hidden behind one of the solid, stone walls. He was smart enough to not let himself get distracted by the man and kept his rifle trained on some of the approaching Braithwaites.

They all rotated to the side of the house when the Braithwaites were making their final push by involving their work hands. They weren’t much trouble for Van der Linde men. Arthur and John had perfect vantage points from the balcony but a few of the ones below also had decent spots they hid behind.

“Help me with this door,” John mumbled. As soon as it was clear below, he was trying to push open a set of doors.

John lacked some of the meat that Arthur had on his frame to get the door open by himself. He had weight that he could throw around but it was definitely not a lot, especially compared to the bigger men of the gang. So when Arthur added his force, the object on the other side tipped over and the doors swung open.

Arthur was no more than two feet away from another man when he pushed through. The man looked just as surprised as he felt before he quickly turned and hopped over furniture he was hiding behind for when Dutch and Hosea pushed through. There was another man who must have been the one shooting the door. He began to turn with his gun raised by Arthur drew his revolver faster and landed perfect shots that made both of the men go limp.

Hosea pushed through the doors finally, Dutch behind him with his revolvers at the ready. The black haired man holstered his guns and effortlessly kicked open the door Catherine hid behind. Arthur watched with bland curiosity, too high with adrenaline to take much in or wonder how Dutch instantly knew the woman was there. He hardly even registered her frightened scream and looked to Hosea, who stared after Dutch determinedly.

Catherine was pressed again the wall, mostly kept there with the end of Dutch’s revolver and one of Hosea’s hands on her shoulder. The two older men interrogated her, demanding where Jack was. Arthur stood back, next to John. Both silent and watching the pair try to get information out of the woman. When Dutch decided they weren’t going to get anything, he wrapped an arm around her neck and started to drag her from the room.

“Burn this dump to the ground!” he ordered. Catherine cried out as she was forcibly dragged down the stairs. She clawed at the railing but Dutch proved to be stronger and had to only use a bit more effort to get them moving again.

John and Hosea were waiting at the main entrance with lit molotovs in their hands. They had already started, the two rooms near the entrance of the house starting to burn.

The rest of the gang who came were waiting outside by the time Arthur, John, Dutch, and Hosea came outside; Catherine was slung over Dutch’s shoulder. She was dropped in the stones for everyone to see and started rambling on about never liking them.

“Where’s the boy?” Hosea asked in a cool tone.

The Braithwaite woman turned over to glare at him. “My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte. So my guess is Saint Denis. Either there or on the boat to Italy!”

“Let’s go!” Hosea snapped. He turned to mount the horses, everyone following instinctively. It may not have been Dutch’s order but Dutch was even following and Hosea’s tone of voice meant not to go against him.

Arthur seemed to be the last one to mount his horse. Before he turned Cheshire to follow the others, he turned to look back at the house. He could see Catherine Braithwaite’s silhouette stark against the flames eating up the innards and walls of the building. He could still easily hear her crying.

_Crazy old hag._

~*~

Arthur was too on-edge to settle for the night. He paced along the beach, not even for more than a few hours, until the sun started to rise and he was drawn to Dutch’s tent. Molly was nowhere to be seen but Hosea sat on the stool Dutch sometimes sat out front of his tent while Dutch himself sat on the edge of his cot. They both greeted the younger man and finished their conversation in low tones before motioning for Arthur to follow. They sat at the domino table, where John came to them not long after.

It didn’t take long for Dutch and Hosea to start talking a plan to get Jack back. They did a lot of the talking and answered John’s questions when he decided to ask something. Arthur let them do all the talking. He was sitting, at first. Then he realized it was a mistake when their too-familiar voices were lulling his tired head. At the first sign of dozing, he snapped to his feet and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible. Hosea gave him an odd stare as soon as the action happened and as soon as Arthur looked at him.

But eventually the conversation strayed from plans to calming down John. He was nervous for his son and to face the wrath of Abigail. True, the woman was mighty when she felt like it but endangering her son made her just as fiery as Sadie. But, in all honesty, as Dutch said, Jack was probably perfectly safe in the hands of Angelo Bronte. No person would take a boy to harm him, that just wasn’t right.

Then Dutch asked Arthur for his thoughts. Were his thoughts really wanted? Back at Horseshoe Overlook, Dutch didn’t seem keen on listening to Arthur’s thoughts about moving camp when the Pinkertons found him with Jack. Was he actually interested in hearing Arthur’s thoughts or did he just want to comfort John by getting his brother to hopefully share some calming words?

Arthur was hesitant but he ended up speaking. He decided to support John’s nervousness, said that it was justified. But when he explained further, saying that they killed all those people and stirred all that trouble for nothing, Dutch made a face. _Of course, he did._ It was a flash of shock, like he didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“No, not for nothing. For living,” Dutch scolded. He shook his head shallowly. “We get that boy back and we go. Trust me.”

Arthur wanted to make a face but kept his bitterness internal. It sounded nearly identical to what he said back at Horseshoe Overlook; just wait a little bit before we move on. But they didn’t have time to wait.

“Hey, Dutch, we got a problem!” Lenny called suddenly. Everyone at the table turned to look for the young man. Now, Arthur _really_ wanted to make a face. He probably did before he made sure his expression was schooled into a harsh, cool mask.

“Not a problem, visitors, a solution…” It was that Pinkerton man, the one with the weird haircut, and his big buddy. Milton and Ross, was it? “Good day fine people. Mr. Van der Linde… Mr. Matthews, I presume.”

Milton squinted at John briefly, sizing him up before turning his attention to the rest of the gang. Everyone was forming around the Pinkertons, guns at the ready and awaiting any order or sign to attack. Foolishly loyal, Arthur may say if he were in a bad mood. He straightened his posture and took a few steps toward the intruder.

The head-honcho Pinkerton went about introducing himself and his buddy. Once he was done, he eyed Arthur skeptically. “Mr. Morgan. Nice to see you again.”

“And to what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch asked from his seat at the table.

“I don’t know if you’re aware but this is a civilized land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity and basic decency was outmoded or not yet invented,” Milton said in that nasally voice of his. “This thing? It’s done.”

Dutch rose from his seat and turned toward the Pinkertons. He took slow, slow cautious steps with Hosea trailing a pace behind. “This place, ain’t no thing as civilized. It’s man is so in love with greed… he has forgotten himself and found only appetites.”

Milton sneered. “And as a consequence that lets you take what you please, kill whom you please, and hang the rest of us? Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led so horribly astray?”

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton.” Dutch held his chin up and puffed his chest out smoothly.

“You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde. But I came to make a deal. You come with me and I give the rest of ya three days to run off, disappear, and go live like human beings someplace else.”

“You came for me? Risked life and limb in this den of lowlifes and murderers so they might live and love?” Arthur felt confidence radiating off Dutch in waves. It was dangerous for him but at the same time the Pinkertons were in their own danger for being here. “Ain’t that fine.”

“I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch, just you.”

Dutch raised his hands and began taking steps forward. “In that case, it’d be my honor to join you.” The two leaders stood only a few feet apart. “Excuse me, friends, I have an appointment to keep with…”

There was a wave of rustling and clicking as people readied their weapons, Arthur included.

“I think your new friends should leave now, Dutch,” Susan growled.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Milton protested. “I will return with fifty men and all of you will die, all of you!”

Lenny scoffed and grabbed for Milton. Milton pulled away and made a backhanded comment before turning tail and trudging off with Ross at his heels.

The camp was tense once the Pinkertons were gone. People dispersed and Lenny went to make sure their visitors had actually left. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and John still remained in their places. After a brief talk, Arthur and John were getting sent out to Shady Belle to clear out the old house. The lot was big enough to hold everyone and people would definitely appreciate a roof over their heads.

After a ride of trying to give John advice, they cleared out the old house with no issues. A few Lemoyne Raiders had strayed back there but there was much fewer of them than the first time Arthur came by with Lenny. John helped dump one body into the swamps before Arthur sent him off to direct the gang to their new temporary camp. Arthur was fine with dumping the bodies by himself. He just wanted everyone out of Clemens Point as soon as possible.

There wasn’t much time after Arthur finished cleaning the bodies up when the gang arrived. He greeted them warmly and was immediately swept away by Dutch to go out on a ride. Molly chased them down before they left, in hopes of talking to Dutch. Arthur felt a pang of loneliness in his chest. He hasn’t had time to spend any time with Charles in the past few days. He has been so busy…

They rode out to Saint Denis. It… was a sight. Black smoke rose from the chimneys of factories and the streets, though paved, were as disgusting as dirt roads in the rain. It seemed that only carriages drove through the streets. People walked on the sidewalks and Arthur already spotted a beggar when he and Dutch stopped after the bridge into the city. The air was disgustingly humid and tainted with an awful stench that had to be from the factories.

_Cities are the worst,_ Arthur thought to himself miserably.

He and Dutch split up to look for Angelo Bronte after that. And things turned shitty. Arthur went to the docks then some backwater bar before getting redirected to the nice saloon at the center of town. There, he met up with Dutch again and getting a cruel joke set on him. They split again after that. Arthur got a tip from a fidgety stranger that there may be some boys in the alley behind the saloon that could introduce them.

That was just before things turned even worse than shitty. The kids led him to a church before the older one cut Arthur’s satchel from its strap and went running with it. Tonics, herbs, and, most importantly, his _money_ were in that. He chased the little brat until they reached another alley full of children. His lungs were burning and he probably looked like a goof, bent over trying to get his air back and at the same time cursing at the kid. He got his satchel back and information on Bronte.

Dutch met him across the road from the saloon they met at earlier. Arthur delivered the information the kids gave him and received a fatherly pat on the back. They headed back to camp with Dutch planning to head back tomorrow with John and Arthur to pay Bronte a visit.

The sun was just starting to set by the time they returned to camp. Supper wasn’t made yet so Arthur trudged upstairs to the bedroom Miss Grimshaw said was his and passed out on his cot for a few hours. He was awoken by a gentle, persistent nudging on his shoulder. It disrupted his much-needed sleep, drawing him from the welcomed darkness.

Protests escaped his mouth and he tried swinging out but a hand caught him and held him there. His limb wasn’t let go so he cracked his eyes open and was greeted with the sight of a smirking Charles sitting next to the cot. He had a bowl of stew in his free hand.

“Are you done?” he asked. His voice sounded tired but he was unable to hide the amusement there.

Arthur nodded, mouth too dry to use his voice yet. He sat up quickly and grabbed his canteen from his satchel, where he had it down by his feet while he slept, and took a few greedy mouthfuls of water. Once he put it away and sat normally, the bowl of stew was getting pushed onto his lap.

“Hosea told me you probably haven’t eaten since this morning or sometime yesterday. Also told me that you definitely didn’t sleep yesterday so that was why you rushed to your room when you got back with Dutch.”

“Yeah, yesterday… that was somethin’,” Arthur mumbled. He dug into his meal. He didn’t realize how hungry he was throughout the day. “Weren’t much time to do anythin’ but follow Dutch’s orders. Poor Sean…”

Charles put a warm hand on Arthur’s knee. He didn't say anything but his presence was enough to comfort. Even without words, it was like he was urging Arthur not to get too carried away with Dutch’s orders and work. Today and yesterday were a bit much, Arthur could agree to that. Sean was killed and then Jack had been taken. They visited the Braithwaite manor in the night and returned with dark hours to spare but Arthur had been too restless for any sleep. Then the Pinkertons visited and Arthur was sent out with John to get Shady Belle ready for their stay. To top everything off, Dutch brought him to the city where he had to waste his precious remaining energy chasing down a kid who stole his satchel. Maybe Arthur deserved a bit of rest.

“Just try not to push yourself too hard?” Charles suggested. He shrugged when he saw Arthur’s eyes on him. “There’s only one of you and several other men in the gang; they’re the ones who need to pull their weight.”

“Yes, but orders are orders.”

Arthur slurped up the rest of his meal and let Charles take the bowl and spork back. He laid back down. Their eyes met again and Arthur wished they hadn’t. Charles was giving him a mean stare, like he wasn’t going to take a no.

Arthur sighed. “I have work to do that others can’t take on. But I will keep in mind to be more careful…”

“That’s all I ask, Arthur. More of us care about you than you think.” Charles leaned forward and gave Arthur a peck on the lips. “Now get back to sleep. You need it.”

Arthur reached out and locked his fingers around Charles’ wrist before the man could leave. He felt his cheeks heat up. He squeezed his eyes shut to fight the pathetic feeling rising in his chest. God, he felt like a baby. Or felt like he was younger, recently taken in by Dutch and Hosea, and too afraid to fall asleep alone so one of his adoptive fathers would sit with him until he slept.

“Can you stay… until I fall asleep, please?”

He dared to open his eyes and saw Charles staring back softly. “Of course.”

So Charles sat back down and set aside the bowl and spork. He pulled his seat closer to the cot and ran his hands through Arthur’s hair comfortingly. That and the feeling of being full was satisfying. His body was warm and sated and the feeling of Charles playing with his hair was also like one of those forgotten feelings from his youth. Like his mother was playing with his hair when she was settling him for a nap. It had the same effect, still. All of the niceness stacked. Arthur’s eyelids drooped and warmth enveloped him. Charles’ calm face was the last thing Arthur saw before his eyes closed and all he saw was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sorry for the break. It wasn’t planned, I would have much rather been writing. I’ll probably end up starting the modern/semi-modern project while I write this next chapter but i won’t stop writing this if I do. I will be working on the next chapter right after I post this, folks (although I'm probably also going to mess with an instrument but I do have the first paragraph started in the next chapter. After all, it was cut from this chapter).
> 
> If you find any mistakes, you should let me know so I can fix them! I wrote a lot of this last night. I was tired then and I haven't read over everything very well.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been more than a whole month, huh? Never intended for that to happen. Apologies.

Arthur woke the next morning feeling refreshed but also disappointed. Charles didn’t stay. It was understandable since they didn’t really want to be caught and Arthur didn’t actually invite him to stay… But the broken window and open balcony door let the chirping of birds in and calmed him.

He felt much better than he did yesterday. He got plenty hours of rest last night and the bowl of stew gave him that little extra bit of energy. Though he could already feel hunger creeping up on him.

Most of the gang was already awake. Abigail was busy worrying about Jack, so her early schedule was understandable. Probably the only one not awake yet was Bill and he was most likely up late last night, drinking heavily like he normally did. Surprising that it was him and not the Reverend or Uncle who was close to the bottles… If it kept him out of trouble, then that was something.

Dutch and John hadn’t left yet. The hours were slipping into the afternoon when John retrieved Arthur. The older of Dutch’s sons was taking care of his horses when his younger came to retrieve him. He didn’t fail to notice the unmistakable nervousness on John’s face but he didn’t say anything about it. Best to keep quiet about it if he didn’t want his ear chewed off. Marston was never good at controlling his mouth when he got emotional.

Arthur saddled up Cheshire, not wanting to be seen by some big-shot on his little Arabian, no matter how elegant she looked. Cheshire was tall and looked stronger. How Arthur appeared should look like he wasn’t to be messed with and Cheshire would provide better than Greymore. And maybe also he just wanted to ride his taller horse because he didn’t want to be outshone by Old Boy. Though nearly any horse could outshine that ill-favored gelding. Poor horse got beat with an ugly stick, with that sun-bleached mane and tail and the way he goofily rides with his big hooves.

They hitched their horses across the street of the mansion that was Bronte’s. A man was there to greet them, who Dutch hassled into letting them through the gates. Dutch got them in but they all still played nice. They had their hands raised, despite guns getting pointed at them from all directions.

The mansion was something. It was like the Braithwaite house but grander in every way. There were many more fancy trinkets lying around and the wood, from what Arthur could tell, had to be on the very expensive side. They were led through the main room of the house and any glimpse into another room revealed that expensive, lustrous furniture filled the house. Wouldn’t be a surprise if a professional builder was hired to construct the place.

In a sitting room to the left sat a man. It was Bronte. There was no arguing about that. He had servants standing around him and the way he lounged on a couch pointed at who was the man of the house. Though it wouldn’t be too hard to dethrone him, Arthur thought. He had to be the equivalent of Catherine Braithwaite except a bit sturdier and unfortunately stationed in a city.

The environment was hostile and Arthur wasn’t sure if he liked it. Too many people had guns aimed. Dutch was trying to make the most of their situation by acting as friendly as possible. He sat on the couch while John and Arthur stayed standing. Arthur had himself stationed at the doorway with a hand resting obviously on the pistol on his hip. From where he was, he had access to a lot of the men in the halls. John took a step to where Dutch previously was to cover the room they were in. Arthur honestly liked it better when Dutch was standing, it gave them better odds if things went south.

Suddenly Bronte was laughing and it wasn’t music to Arthur’s ears. He backed down from his hostile stance when he saw John doing the same. And as much as he didn’t want to, he played nice by sitting on the couch. Didn’t make sense why he sat in the middle when John was smaller than him…

Arthur saw in Bronte’s eyes that he knew he had the power in the room. He says jump and the Van der Linde boys ask how high. Though he knew it was just for Jack. If he told them to do anything rash then the outlaws could act out in defiance. But getting sent out to deal with some grave robbers? It sounded too easy to be true. It left a bad taste in Arthur’s mouth just thinking about the man and his business.

John led the way to the graveyard. They talked on the way and Arthur got the gist that John cared for Jack more than he let on. He started to reveal that he cared about Jack when they visited the Braithwaites, he was just now showing it more.

The graveyard was eerie in the night. It looked abandoned, as it should be, but they wouldn’t be visiting if it was. There were only a few lights in the graveyard itself, making the two visitors rely heavily on their senses. Arthur didn’t know about John, but he himself was relying desperately on his hearing.

John was thankfully quiet as they looked for the graverobbers. There was already a drunk man mourning his friend and a stray dog barking at nothing. Twice John and Arthur were led astray and it made the anger in Arthur’s veins fire up. Racket deeper in was what they finally followed. There was no one there, but they found the money Bronte wanted.

That was when they were attacked by the people who they were following earlier. It wasn’t entirely a surprise. They were following people who had things to hide. When those people got their things taken from them, they lashed out to get them back. So, no, _that_ wasn’t the surprising bit. What the surprising bit was when the police came. But when Arthur thought about that, he had to admit, that wasn’t really a surprise, either. He and John caused plenty of a racket with their guns. Frightened citizens had called the law so the issue could be resolved and they could go back to sleep.

John led them both out of there but Arthur led them back to Bronte’s mansion all the while John complained. Shame that after all these years his younger brother never mastered patience like he mastered gambling. That skill of his may be beneficial at times but they aren’t always in need of a gambler when they’re waiting for the arrival of a stagecoach.

When they returned to the mansion, they hitched their horses up across the street and approached the front gate. One of Bronte’s goons opened the gate for them. On the front steps sat Dutch and Jack. The child leaped to his feet and ran toward his father as soon as he saw them. John lifted his son into the air and hugged him with a desperation that Arthur bet wasn’t meant to be seen.

Dutch got up and joined Arthur. Arthur expected some kind of sarcastic or bitter remark from Dutch but the man said nothing and they headed out to the horses.

Arthur noticed Jack was wearing some awful clothes. There was something frilly around the collar of his navy blue shirt. It looked like he had some fancy black child-sized shoes on, along with a pair of long socks that disappeared under child-sized fancy pants. They had clearly pampered him. Good, that meant he shouldn’t have been mistreated. Though anyone who mistreated a child that wasn’t even their deserved to go to Hell no matter how many good deeds that person has done in their lifetime.

When Jack talked, it sounded like he had lived in luxury. Bronte taught him a few words in Italian and he had something called spaghetti. Multiple baths in a day and a guaranteed roof over his head… Bronte had provided what the gang couldn’t always. And it made Arthur _really_ think.

He understood John was Jack’s father and Abigail was as good of a mother as she could be in their circumstances… but maybe, just maybe, Jack would’ve had a better life with Bronte. He seemed happy there. He was fed, clothed, given baths, and was taught a few things. Sure, it was pampering, but he had a roof over his head. A roof that the gang couldn’t always provide. A growing boy should have… well, Arthur wasn’t quite sure what was good for a growing boy. He didn’t raise his own son and he sure as hell didn’t have a good childhood.

He just knew that Bronte could provide what the gang couldn’t.

Dutch was leading with Arthur at the back so John and Jack could be guarded in the middle. Jack gladly answered questions asked by Dutch and John, and Arthur gladly stayed silent to think and listen. It wasn’t his moment to cherish and he didn’t have gobs of questions to ask or a mental list of conversation starters like Dutch did.

They arrived at camp and got immediately greeted by Hosea and Abigail. Hosea went straight to talking to Dutch while Abigail went straight for Jack and brought the boy to the others to start celebrating. It left Arthur and John standing alone at the little bridge into camp.

“Thank you, Arthur… I don’t know how else to say it,” John said, sounding breathless. He watched after his son with sparkling eyes. Maybe it was finally, _finally_ sinking in that he could have very well lost his son in all the commotion.

“Yeah, I got it.” Arthur pulled out a cigarette and lit a match on his boot. He brought the flame to his mouth and inhaled deeply when the tobacco was lit. “Go enjoy the party. Be with your family.”

John looked between Arthur and the gathering crowd until he finally stopped on Arthur to nod. With that, he shuffled off to sit beside Abigail by the fire while most of the gang stood around and starting to mumble along with one of Javier’s songs. Arthur kept his place and watched them for a moment. All looking so… happy. They were all happy with threats looming over their heads, whether some knew that or not was the thing.

Because of his thoughts, Arthur wasn’t able to settle. No matter how much he wanted to sit around the fire and sing with the others, he wandered behind Pearson’s wagon and started downing whatever alcohol that was sitting out. He even pulled out the aged pirate rum in his satchel.

The night was supposed to be for celebration yet he was trying to drown his nerves just to relax. It was going to be something to regret in the morning, he could already see it. Maybe it was the wind—the taste of rain on the wind—or Arthur’s instincts preparing for something. But he couldn’t say anything tonight or else everyone would get sent into a panic and Jack’s party would be cut short. No, any bad feelings that were infecting Arthur could wait until morning when he could bring it up with Dutch and Hosea.

The aged pirate rum burned the most going down. He winced the most with that one and had to carry it with him when he went to settle at the poker table. Although he bumped into someone before he could make it out from behind the wagon. Strong arms wrapped around his waist and supported him before he could topple over.

“How many have you had so far?” Charles asked.

Arthur shrugged. Drinking himself into oblivion didn’t sound too bad. “Few ‘f this, few ‘f that. Some pirate rum that’s aged beyond b’lief. Should try it, make the night _much_ more fun.”

There was a spark in Charles’ eyes that Arthur, though not inebriated yet, noticed. He smiled to himself, showing his teeth.

“Think ‘bout it. Maybe meet me in my room tonight when the alcohol’s kicked in.”

He slid out of Charles’ arms easily and took another swig of his rum while on his way to the poker table. Javier, at this point, was strumming his guitar and singing a song by the fire. The crowd around the campfire had dispersed into little groups. John and Abigail carefully watched Jack play in front of Pearson’s wagon; Kieran watched, too, but standing at more of a distance. The women, except Abigail and Karen, were all heading inside to rest up and the men were starting to scatter into little groups or go be alone.

Uncle, Susan, and Pearson joined him at the poker table and Karen pulled up a stool. Susan started singing and Arthur had no choice but to join in. He thought it would be perfect to make him more at ease while the alcohol he just drank still worked to take effect. He didn’t know the words as well as the others did but he followed along well-enough.

John, Abigail, and Jack eventually disappeared inside. Arthur was starting to feel drunk as he wandered around camp so he sat by the campfire and finished that last of his rum. Javier took his place at the table and those seated around him sang some more. An argument between Molly and Dutch sounded in the background while Hosea shared his story about being nearly hanged. Focusing on Hosea’s story made blocking out Dutch and Molly easy.

When the story was over, Arthur excused himself. He swayed when he got to his feet. Or maybe it was the earth that wasn’t holding still. He decided that, yes, it was the world that was moving. It explained perfectly why he had such a hard time getting his feet moving toward the house.

“Goodnight, Mr. Morgan!” Keiran called out cheerily.

Arthur waved a hand behind him. The motion almost sent him sideways.

The house was quiet. Most of the women were settled inside and already sleeping in the main rooms so Arthur had to be silent as he made his way past them. Hosea would probably be calling it a night soon, too. He, like Arthur, was lucky enough to have a room he could retire to at night.

Low murmuring from John’s room was a sign that his family was in there and probably settling. Arthur didn’t say anything as he went by but he was sure that his footsteps on the creaky floor would be heard. But if any of the three did hear him, none said a word.

The first thing he did when he got to his room was light one of the lanterns. The second thing was to kick off his boots and stand to look at the map on the table beside his bed. It was just an areal map, spanning from Lemoyne to the Grizzlies. It had its uses, mostly for planning but also has been a good studying tool for hunts and learning the roads for future escapes. There were large _x_ ’s over their previous camping spots, and it was alarming to see how they’ve moved north from Blackwater and steadily headed east.

He heard the creak in the hall so he half turned his body to face the door. A few seconds later, in walked Charles. His brown eyes quickly scanned the room before landing on Arthur.

Arthur felt a chill go up his back. He felt like a rodent caught in a trap, staring down the barrel of a varmint rifle.

“Didn’t take you long to find me. Weren’t followed? Raise anyone’s alarms?” Arthur questioned.

Charles made a shrugging motion with his arms. “Don’t know why anyone would question me. Your offer was very hard to ignore, the excuse of taking a leak can only go so far before anyone realizes I don’t come back.”

“Well no one’s ever in your business so for all they know you could’ve gone to sleep by the water or in one of the back buildings for some peace ‘nd quiet.”

They stood in silence, regarding each other. Arthur realized he was leaning heavily on the table and Charles was standing with the door closed behind him awkwardly. Yes, right. In simple terms, Arthur had invited Charles to his room to fuck. The thought sounded lewd but it was the truth.

Charles was the first to move. He took a few long strides that closed the distance between them and put his lips on Arthur’s. His mouth tasted like alcohol, or maybe that was just Arthur’s own taste buds still carrying what he consumed. Either way, he wasn’t complaining that his mouth was being invaded by the other. He liked this other side of Charles, the rougher side (don’t get him wrong, he didn’t care what side he got, he just wanted Charles). He was the one taking control, backing Arthur up into the table with the map on it.

“Might want to clear the stuff off behind you, if you don’t want any of it ruined,” Charles breathed the next time they separated for air.

Arthur blinked out of his haze. The look he was getting from Charles was all he needed to know that he should take those words to heart. He turned to gather the little stencils on the map, rolled the paper up, then discarded it to the floor. Charles was right on him again after that.

Arthur’s thighs were gripped and he was raised to sit on the edge of the table. Internally, he was overjoyed by the show of force. He ran his hands through Charles’ long hair and kept them there, rubbing his blunt nails against the man’s scalp. He hoped Charles liked that. He got his answer when he ground their hips together and alerted Arthur that he was excited. Arthur moaned into Charles' mouth. The friction from their clothing felt too good.

“Do that again and this might end before we really start,” he warned when they took another break for air.

There was that familiar spark in Charles’ eye. “Then let’s get moving.”

Arthur wrapped an arm around Charles’ neck when he grabbed blindly for his satchel. Charles helped him out by grabbing it and handing it to him before making quick work of the buttons on Arthur’s vest. Arthur grabbed a vile of oil from his satchel before letting it drop to the ground. He put it aside to unbuckle his belt so his pants could be slid off. He then toed off his socks after Charles helped get his pants off and started working on the buttons of Arthur’s undershirt.

Charles’ clothing lacked buttons and that was what Arthur was looking for with drunk fingers when he freed up his hands. It frustrated him and he was flooded with embarrassment but he was half sure that his skin was already red so it wouldn’t show.

“Damnit, Charles, focus on _your_ clothes. Mine’re easy,” Arthur growled. He swatted at the hands near the lower buttons of his union suit.

Charles mumbled something but he did turn his attention to his own attire. He pulled his shirt off effortlessly and his pants and boots came right after. After his little show, he finished undressing Arthur and oiled up a finger.

“Maybe you should wear less clothes,” Charles huffed. He massaged the ring of Arthur’s muscles until he pressed a finger in and got a soft hiss in return.

“Well I gotta traipse around in the city ‘nd runnin’ around only in a union suit ain’t gonna give me any better of a reputation.”

A rumble of thunder brought Arthur from his trance. It distracted him from the second finger entering him.

“If you time it right, you might not have to muffle yourself,” Charles teased.

Arthur bit his lip to stop a moan as Charles moved his fingers. “Might not have to muffle myself ‘cause of how hard people’re partyin’. Passin’ out can really make you dead to the world.”

Charles furrowed his brow instead of replying. Arthur was about to ask what it was about but Charles’ magical fingers made a motion suddenly and pressed against the spot that had Arthur boneless last time. He worked that spot tirelessly, all the while stretching Arthur.

“C’mon, Charles… can fuck me any time now…”

Charles’ eyes widened for a moment and he slowed down to a halt. His pupils were dilated to the point his brown irises blended in perfectly. His nostrils flared for a moment. After blinking once slowly, he removed himself from Arthur hastily and oiled himself but he stopped with his tip pressed against Arthur’s entrance.

Arthur gave himself a few pumps, smearing the bead of pre-come that gathered on his tip. He’d prefer it if Charles finished the job so he stopped and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and connected their lips for encouragement. It must have worked because he was kissing back strongly and suddenly pushed into Arthur.

It stung but Arthur was too drunk to care. It didn’t feel bad so there was no point to complaining, especially not when his body would get used to it.

Charles’ pace wasn’t brutal but he also wasn’t being as tender as their first time; another way Arthur recognized the man followed his orders earlier. Either way, he didn’t check to make sure Arthur was adjusted, he simply started and was encouraged by the shorter man’s moans.

“Will you want to finish here or your bed?” Charles asked in a husky voice.

“Might pass out right after, so bed. ‘Sides, I don’t want a splinter in my ass,” Arthur answered. A rumble of thunder sounded so he allowed himself to moan right in his partner’s ear.

Charles nodded. He grabbed Arthur by the hips and started slamming into the man. It just so happened that it was at the right angle to make Arthur buck wildly and see stars. He lifted his legs to wrap around Charles’ waist and dug his heels into the man’s lower back. With his hands, he started to grab blindly before grabbing Charles’ biceps.

“Bed,” was all he said and Charles picked him up in a good show of strength before setting him on the bed and resuming a punishing pace, still hitting _that spot_ perfectly. He was curled awkwardly against the wall but he had no complaints.

Arthur was aware he was getting close, dangerously fast. He could feel the pressure building in his gut and he was not only sweating from the weather but now also from the fire under his skin. He made a few wimpy noises in the back of his throat as he thought about finishing himself off with only a few pumps.

Charles decided for him. He grabbed Arthur’s cock and started pumping it at a different pace than his hips.

It was definitely enough. Arthur felt like he was suffocating, tears came to his eyes as he came. He twitched from the aftershocks as Charles kept going. He was almost too sensitive for it but he wanted Charles to have his own release, too. To encourage the other man, Arthur made sure to moan quietly and ran his fingernails down the dark back. He also readjusted his heels to press into the spots where pains tend to originate.

Maybe it was enough. Charles came soon, his hips stuttering to a halt and a few sounds escaped his mouth. He froze above Arthur for about a minute until he gently guided the man onto his back to lay on the cot properly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked gently.

Arthur didn’t realize his eyes had slip closed. They were too heavy to keep them open, anyway. He shook his head. “If you did, it felt fine.”

Charles hesitated. He pulled out of Arthur and got up. “Let me find something to clean us up with…”

Arthur drifted off for a bit. He came back to his senses when he felt a cool cloth wiping him off down there. He inhaled heavily through his nose and turned his head to face the wall. “Stay tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Sure.”

~*~

A splitting headache and strange heaviness covering him was what awoke Arthur. The sun shined in through the cracks in the old house, Arthur made sure to have his eyes covered with an arm before ever opening them. Even with them shaded, it still made his head spike with pain. Some day it was going to be then. Everyone around camp was going to be complaining of headaches, too, and swearing of never drinking again.

When his eyes adjusted, he looked down and saw that the heaviness covering him was Charles. He was Arthur’s blanket, head pillowed on Arthur’s milky-pale chest with a thin sheet over him to keep them relatively modest. He looked peaceful, from what Arthur could see of his face.

Arthur may or may not have dozed for a bit. He knew that he _rested_ for a small amount of time until Charles started to rouse.

“How’re you feeling?” Charles asked groggily. He sniffed, stretched, and raised his head. His beautiful brown eyes sparkled in the early morning light. He probably didn’t know how adoring he was looking at the moment.

“Right as rain, at the moment,” Arthur answered. “Might change once I start moving… head is also hurtin’ like a bitch so there’s that, actually…”

Charles lifted a hand to cup one of Arthur’s cheeks and he leaned up to connect their lips. “Maybe take a tonic. I feel like they will put you to work soon.”

Arthur nodded, somewhat solemnly. “Indeed…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if any of y’all actually like Old Boy. I just think he’s kinda funny and ugly looking. It’s also funny how John names his horses. Old Boy… Rachel… It’s like they’re set up to be miserable. 
> 
> Also, no, that scene near the end wasn’t giving me issues. It’s not what kept me from posting.
> 
> Tell you what though! I got a keyboard! Now my fingers aren't sliding all over the keys when I'm trying to type. I can't stand flat keyboards.
> 
> and getting this posted before some storms roll through so correct me for any mistakes. I'll go back through and read it once it's posted.


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